


rein it in

by RaeOfFrickingSunshine



Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Growing Up Together, M/M, eventual hallie but who knows when we'll get there?, not me, so many horses, so much pining, the weird equestrian au literally no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:42:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 99,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23501797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeOfFrickingSunshine/pseuds/RaeOfFrickingSunshine
Summary: There are two constants in Allie Pressman's life.Unfortunately, one seems to be Harry Bingham.
Relationships: Harry Bingham/Allie Pressman, Sam Eliot/Gareth "Grizz" Visser
Comments: 249
Kudos: 240





	1. one.

Aged ten, Cassandra Pressman is the US under elevens reining champion, and her parents could not be prouder.

They had travelled for twelve hours, their truck overheating twice, pulling a cattle trailer which rattled at every pothole and dip in the road. Cassandra had determinedly polished her saddle and bridle, then painted Jasper’s hooves with oil and buffed his coat. The pony was thirteen hands exactly, squat and short, with small eyes. Allie loved him beyond compare.

There are certain moves that have to be incorporated into the reining sequence. Allie has watched Cassandra practice them diligently, her hands light on the reins, pressing her legs into Jasper’s sides so the gelding spins, or lopes, or gallops and skids to a stop upon Cassandra’s command, his head dropping, sides quivering.

Allie’s hands curve around the ring’s bars and she holds her breath as Jasper and Cassandra enter in a slow lope. Jasper is looking around the ring, appraising the situation in his pony like manner. His bay coat gleams under the bright sky lights. The audience, seated on stepped seating around the metal fenced circular pen in the centre, go quiet.

Cassandra tips her Stetson to the judges. There is a pause. Then it begins.

Allie has the sequence memorized, watches as Jasper spins, lopes, his head lowered obediently. He’s always sticky on his left lead and he hesitates for a stride when he’s asked to change leads, but then does so with what looks like a sigh. He stands when asked, each muscle taut, ready for the next command.

The pair fly around the ring, precise, measured. Cassandra’s teeth are gritted in determination. It makes her look like she’s grimacing.

Final, they pick up gallop down the centre of the ring. Allie sees Cassandra shifting her weight back. Jasper feels it, and then he drops his quarters and they both slide. Dust obscures the pair for a second, before settling. Jasper appraises the ring once more with a weathered eye, then snorts once, shaking his head.

Allie races to the gate, her hands fumbling with the latch. She lays a hand on Jasper’s neck as the pair exit, Cassandra seeking out her coach’s eye. “You were amazing,” Allie enthuses, as she scrambles in her pocket for a sugar cube. Jasper’s teeth graze her palm as she offers it to him. His nostrils flare, outlined in pink, and his sides are heaving.

“Cassie!” their dad is there, picking his daughter straight off Jasper’s back and engulfing her in an encompassing hug. Allie keeps leading Jasper forward, down the chute and out of the way of the next competitor. It’s Harry Pressman, on a black mare Allie knows is called Indigo.

“Well ridden,” the compliment doesn’t reach his eyes, and Cassie narrows his eyes at him. Allie thinks she sees her sister mouth _beat that_ and Harry’s eyes darken, hand tightening on the reins.

He tries his best, but he doesn’t.

Allie doesn’t see his performance – she is already loosening Jasper’s girth (she has to dodge as the pony attempts to take a chunk out of her arm, his ears flattened back) and walking him around outside in the sunshine until his breathing regulates. Then she’s unsaddling him, in the temporary stables which are made of metal and plastic sheeting.

She is dunking a sponge in a bucket of water and smoothing it over Jasper’s back when Harry Pressman returns, Indigo’s reins loose in his hands. Jasper and Indigo are stabled next to each other, because stablemates always are. Allie ignores him, because Cassandra does.

He stops outside Jasper’s stable for a moment, looks in as Allie struggles to push the heavy saddle over the stable door.

“She won,” he informs her softly, and Allie bares her teeth at him because really, was there any doubt?

*

Allie knows there are differences between her sister and the rest of the reining competitors. Mostly being that the Pressman’s live in a town house, and board Jasper a twenty minute drive away. Everyone else wears second hand, broken in gear, passed between families. They trade training tips and secrets, and their parents are as involved or more than them.

They were first introduced to horse riding aged four and five respectively – comparatively late to everyone else. It was Allie who wanted to keep going back for lessons, but she thinks that everyone has forgotten that. There are pictures of these early days, and Cassie has something akin to a scowl on her lips. Allie is behind her, hand on the neck of her pony, staring at the camera. They learn to ride at a barn which doesn’t usually offer children’s lessons, but does it as a favour because the barn owner knows Allie’s aunt and uncle.

At seven, Cassandra is offered the lease of Jasper in exchange for barn chores. Jasper was one of the least favourites of the barn staff; preferring to bite first, question later. He was just as swift with his hooves, and the girls are always covered in small, hoof shaped bruises when they fail to move quickly enough.

Cassandra enters her first local reining competition at eight. She comes second last. It does not stop her, and it’s all she talks about for days. Their parents’ eye each other from opposite sides of the table and look weary.

At her second competition, Cassandra comes fourth. At her third, she wins.

Karen Bingham stands in the Pressman’s kitchen, her boots new and polished. Her jeans are immaculate. She owns the boarding stables where they keep Jasper; owns Jasper, too.

“I think they could go all the way,” she’s telling Jim and Amanda, who lean against the kitchen counter and look at each other. “They’re really talented.”

There is a pause as her parents consider each other. Jim says, hesitantly, “are you sure?”

Karen nods.

“Cassie does really love it,” her mom smiles slightly. “It’s good for her.”

“They both do,” if Allie leans forward on the stair she’s sat on, she can see Karen’s face. “Allie is an excellent rider too.”

“Oh,” Jim dismisses it, “Allie hasn’t got any interest in competitions. She enjoys all the messing around at the barn.”

Allie can’t help but think that nobody has ever asked her.

Their parents sit them down at the kitchen table that evening, looking grave. Cassandra is still in her chair, but Allie can’t help but move nervously, all anxious energy.

“Girls,” says their mom, and their dad smiles at them. “Cassandra. Mrs Bingham wants to know whether you will join their reining program,” Allie watches carefully as Cassandra’s face lights up, as she squeals with joy, anticipation.

“Yes, yes! Yes!” Cassie is pulling Allie from her seat and dancing around the kitchen, hands thrown up.

“It will be a lot of work,” their father shouts over the celebration, and Cassie quietens a little. “It’s a big commitment. Before and after school – weekends, evenings.”

He sounds so serious that it stills Cassie, who looks to her mom for reassurance.

Amanda smiles at her daughters. “It is a big commitment, but she thinks you’re good enough. She’s even offered to sell Jasper to us,” at this, Allie shouts with joy – Jasper, theirs? Forever? She can’t imagine anything better.

“Thank you!” Cassandra flings her arms around both her parents and they smile at her, beaming, proud, a hand on her head.

*

It is a lot of work, of shovelling horse muck and fretting over the correct thickness rug to wear for the weather. Hours and hours of practice, Allie sitting on the arena railings and watching as Mrs Bingham shouts instructions and pointers. _Sit up straighter – good. Shoulders back. Don’t demand, ask him. You will never get anywhere by force. He’s always going to beat you in a fight._

Jasper does not become more amenable now he is officially theirs. He still bites and stamps and raises a hoof, but Allie reckons it’s more of a show. She lavishes him in attention, grooms his coat until he gleams. The barn staff joke that Jasper only has to lift his tail and Allie is there, at his command, whether it is a fart or anything more.

Her days are Tuesdays and Thursdays. A horse needs variety in it’s fitness routine, and Allie can feel Jasper’s disapproval if she attempts to guide him towards the arenas. Instead, she shouts to the barn staff that she’s going on a trail ride, and then she goes. It is just Jasper and her, his hoofbeats muffled by the pine leaves in the forest. No one ever tells her parents she is out riding alone – Cassie knows, and doesn’t approve, but every time Allie takes Jasper into the arena he either digs his heels in and refuses to move, or times things perfectly, tipping her (gently) out of the saddle and into the sand. Whenever he does so he just snorts and stands over her, glaring balefully.

“Jasper,” Allie complains, as she hits the ground for the third time running. Mrs Bingham had been teaching Cassandra a new technique for spins and sliding stops, and all Allie wants to do is practice them.

Laughter rings out across the arena as she dusts herself down, shaking the grime from her jeans. Harry Bingham sits on the fence, watching her keenly. The reins to his pony Indigo are held loosely in one hand.

“I think you’re supposed to be on top of the horse,” he advises her, and Allie scowls, marching across the arena to where Jasper has retreated. Jasper, affected by her change in mood, swishes his tail and swings his quarters towards her. Allie ignores him, instead pulling him around by the bridle.

Allie hauls herself into the saddle. Less than two minutes later, she is hurtling towards the ground as Jasper takes offence at a bird. Harry’s laughter is louder.

“Go away!” Allie finally snaps, whirling to glare at him.

“No,” Harry is grinning at her, and she wants to push him off the fence. So she does. He blinks up at her from the floor, before sitting up.

Allie retrieves Jasper, whose teeth graze her arm briefly. It lacks intent, and the pony heaves a sigh as Allie clambers on board once more.

*

Aged twelve, Cassandra Pressman comes reserve champion in the under fifteens reining championship. Harry Bingham is champion. He had only entered his first competition eighteen months ago, but years of being raised on the farm meant he hadn’t had much time out of the saddle. He rides with a graceful, intuitive ease that makes Allie jealous. Cassandra always snipes that he only enters out of spite and jealousy, as she is finally doing well.

Cassandra’s smile is more of a grimace as the results are announced.

In the temporary stabling, Harry and Cassandra argue loudly.

“Aren’t you even going to say well done?” taunts Harry, and Allie thinks she hears Cassandra stamping her foot. Allie smooths a hand across Jasper’s muzzle, and he lips up a sugar cube. He barely even pulls a face at her.

“I can’t say well done to someone who has been bought the best horses, instead of working hard for it,” Cassandra is prim, proper.

“Work hard? Your sister does all of your dirty work!”

Allie wants to duck behind the stable door and hide. She scratches at Jasper’s withers, where he’s always itchiest.

“She enjoys it, she doesn’t want to do competitions.”

“That’s not what I’ve seen. She’s always trying to practice the moves, but you practice so much that the stupid pony is always too tired for her.”

“You’re not stupid,” Allie whispers to Jasper. She straightens his forelock, scratches his forehead. He leans into her touch and sighs, his breath smelling sweetly of hay. If she buries her face into his neck, it smells of sweat and leather and everything equine.

“Shut up,” says Cassandra crossly. “I hate you. And I’m going to beat you next time. You’ll see.”

Cassandra flies into the stable, a whirlwind of anger. Jasper is startled, and snaps his teeth at her, catching Cassie’s shirt between his teeth.

*

“I need to work on his changes,” Cassie is all determination and stubbornness. “He’s always been sticky to the left.”

Jasper is still protesting when Allie tries to take him into the arena, so she practices on the trails. She finds an empty, level section of the track and practices loping along steadily, and then shifting her weight, pressing her left leg and encouraging the gelding with a quiet “hup”. Jasper is annoyed, snatching at the bit and snaking his head from left to right. But then he settles, and slowly, starts changing lead from left to right and back again on Allie’s command. Eventually all she has to do is shift her weight from stirrup to stirrup and Jasper is practically skipping along, neck arched, tail still.

“Watch this,” it’s a Thursday, Allie’s day to ride. Cassie had ridden on Tuesday, but Allie hadn’t minded. Cassie sits on the fence and watches.

Allie urges Jasper into a steady jog around the arena, but can feel the tension in the pony’s body. When she asks for canter he obliges begrudgingly.

Allie turns him across the arena, and shifts her weight in the saddle, requesting a lead change.

Jasper stops, arches his back, and unceremoniously dumps her into the sand. Faintly, Allie can hear Harry Bingham laughing at her from the shade of the barn. Cassie scowls.

“Stupid pony.”

*

Allie has heard her parents discussing finances in low voices. Has heard the word _remortgaging_ thrown around in heated near arguments.

It seems her mother wins. Three days later, a new horse arrives at the barn.

Allie is brushing Jasper’s coat diligently, plucking a tick from his lower leg. She makes sure to twist the tick firmly to ensure she’s made it release its hold on Jasper’s skin. The pony is napping in the sun, his ears twitching every so often as a fly buzzes past. Allie has barely even noticed that she’s stopped having to duck and dive out of the way of the pony’s wrath. Instead, Jasper even rests his head on her shoulder, or leans into her.

Whenever Cassie comes near him he transforms back, snorting and stamping. Cassie has to tie him short and wrestle to get near him with his saddle and bridle. It feels a little like Allie’s winning, but she doesn’t say so.

The rattling of the truck and trailer breaks the reverie. Allie stops brushing Jasper to frown over his back, recognising the whirr of the truck’s engine.

Her mother steps out of the cab, and Cassandra out of the back. Cassie is beaming, face full of pride. Harry is drawn by the commotion and comes to stand next to Allie, dodging Jasper’s ill-natured nip.

Cassandra struggles with the latches on the trailer, and is assisted by Amanda. Then she disappears inside, before reappearing a few seconds later. At the end of the rope in her hand is a beautiful palomino mare, her coat flashing gold under the sun and her mane and tail pure white. The mare swings her head, and Allie sees a white stripe right down the centre.

Harry whistles, low and approving. “Nice, Pressman.”

Cassie grins at them as she goes past, carefully leading her new prize into the barn.

Cassie’s mom is all excitement, her hands resting on Allie’s shoulders. She tries to offer Jasper a sugar lump, but he ignores her. Allie takes the sugar and offers it to him. He takes it gently from her hand.

“Isn’t she gorgeous?” Amanda enthuses, smiling widely. Allie nods and wonders whether this means she gets Jasper more than just Tuesdays and Thursdays. Amanda pats Jasper briefly, snatching her hand out of the way when he raises a back leg in warning. “Oh, someone’s coming to trial Jasper tomorrow. Can you ride him for them, Allie? Cassie has a lesson with Karen.”

“Trial?”

“Yes,” her mom is watching as Cassandra halts the mare in the barn’s alleyway and soaks up the admiration of the barn staff. “To buy him,” she clarifies, and Allie’s heart drops all the way to her dirt crusted boots. It must show on her face, because Karen’s hand ghosts across her youngest daughter’s hair and she says, “oh, don’t worry, Allie. We’ll find him a nice family. And you can still share Jasmine with Cassie.”

“I don’t want to share Jasmine,” her voice is thick and quiet.

“Oh, honey,” it deflates her mother then, and she bites her lip. “I’m sorry, Allie. We can’t afford two horses. I wish we could.”

Allie takes a deep breath, because she doesn’t know everything, but she knows about money and how some people have more than some. It strikes her as unfair; the Bingham’s have tens of horses, more than they can ever ride. And she can’t even have half of one.

When her mom leaves, Harry says “you can ride Indigo, if you want.” He is distinctly not looking at her which Allie is relieved about, because she’s crying but trying desperately hard not to.

*

A whole family comes to try Jasper, and they are laden with sugar cubes and mints. There are four children, and Jasper only tries to bite two of them.

Allie warms him up in the ring with a practiced ease, demonstrating his obedience in neck reining, changing gaits. Eventually the mom calls out “can we see some reining moves? If that’s okay with you.”

Allie knew it had been coming, and takes a deep breath. Jasper’s ear twitches back, considering. He is being unusually docile, as if he has understood the gravity of the occasion.

She presses him into a smooth lope, and draws him across the diagonal. He switches from left to right lead easily, but that is his best side. Across the diagonal again, and she shifts her weight in the stirrups. There is a half second pause, but then he skips and changes. Then back, when she asks. He is changing every lead with each stride, on her aid, and Allie is laughing, half in relief and half in elation.

She demonstrates the spins, one hand clamped around the saddle horn, Jasper’s hooves moving impossibly fast.

“Try the slide,” Karen Bingham is leaning against the fence and Cassandra is behind her, astride Jasmine.

Allie clucks her tongue and Jasper moves off, his lope smooth and easy. Allie asks for more, urges him into a gallop. He does, his legs pumping, and then she throws her weight back and he responds instantly, as if knowing what she was going to ask before she asked it, his hindquarters dropping, forelegs extended.

They slide to a stop in a stutter.

The dust from the disturbed sand settles, and Allie sees the family, her mother, Karen Bingham, Cassie and Harry all staring at her.

“Sorry,” she says, self-conscious and flustered. It is the first time she’s actually done the steps in the arena, in front of an audience. “Cassie does it better than me. Shall she show you?”

The mother of the trial family is smiling. “No, it’s okay.”

“Allie,” Karen’s voice is loud and clear. “That was really, really good.”

Allie is too far away to tell, but she thinks Cassie’s face is twisted into a scowl.

“Yeah, Allie. It’s a shame you don’t want to do competitions.”

Allie shrugs and stares at Jasper’s neck, urges him into a walk around the ring to cool him off. In her peripheral vision she notices her mother discussing with the trial family, watches as they all nod and then shake hands. The children are all smiling, and swarm around Jasper as Allie dismounts and leads him through the gate.

The youngest child offers him a carrot and Allie could swear Jasper considers Allie for a moment before reluctantly taking it.

*

Karen comes to find her once she has finished coaching Cassandra. She is accompanied by a clatter of hooves as Cassandra leads Jasmine past.

“You were really good today, Allie,” Karen’s voice is soft, and Allie looks up from where she is stuffing hay into a haynet. The dust always makes her sneeze, so she is relieved at the interruption.

“Jasper’s a really good pony.”

“True,” Karen concedes. “But I think you’ve been working on those lead changes. We could never quite get him to nail them like you did today.”

Allie shrugs. Karen takes a deep breath in.

“You should consider training, entering some competitions.” Over her shoulder, Allie can see Cassandra looking up from where she has Jasmine tied in the cross ties. Allie thinks Cassandra can hear them. Cassie’s back has gone very tense.

“Thank you, Mrs Bingham,” she says politely, untruthfully, “but I don’t want to compete.”

*

Jasmine is sharp and sensitive and cold. Allie takes her on the trails once, reins loose and the sun warm, before Jasmine spooks at a rabbit in the undergrowth and unleashes a series of unsettling, unseating bucks. Then the mare slips, losing her footing, and falls to her knees. Allie tumbles over her head, still holding the reins.

She walks her the half hour back to the barn on foot, limping slightly. Harry sees her walking from a distance and canters over, Indigo skidding to a stop beside them.

“What happened?” he demands. Allie has tears in her eyes but desperately doesn’t want them to be there. She has heard the rumours about how much Jasmine is worth, and she almost ruined her.

Harry helps her wash Jasmine down, and check her all over for injury. They trot the mare up and down on the concrete yard outside to check for lameness.

“I think she’s okay,” Harry pronounces, having pressed his ear to her chest to listen to her heart. Allie doesn’t think he’s right in doing that, but it makes her feel better anyway. “You probably shouldn’t go out on the trails again, though.”

Allie nods solemnly, latching Jasmine’s door shut. “I won’t.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, as he retreats down the barn. “I won’t tell anyone.” 

*

As reserve champion, Cassandra has qualified for the junior world champion reining championship. It’s being held in Europe.

Their parents argue at length about whether they should attend.

Cassandra works doubly as hard, getting used to Jasmine, practicing her sequence. She attends local competitions and almost wins every time. Harry still has his jet-black mare Indigo, but also a new chestnut gelding called Fiji. Allie very rarely sees him practicing, but he always comes out and challenges Cassandra’s lead.

Cassandra wins more times than not, but it is still not enough. She wants to win all the time.

It’s a cool January day when Karen Bingham joins her parents in the kitchen. She says “I’m sorry, but I can’t coach Cassandra anymore.” She says, “Harry wants to become more competitive now, and he’s my son.” She also says, “I think you should find Cassandra a new trainer. I also think you should put Allie in training, too.”

Her parents nod the entire way through, and then there’s silence when Karen leaves the house.

“Well,” says her mother. “I’ll go and start some research.”

*

Victor Tompkins turns up at the barn, and makes Jasmine skitter away from him when he glares at her.

“Pretty, isn’t she?” Cassandra is beaming in pride. Victor grunts.

“Pretty is as pretty does. Let’s go.”

His face is weathered and his wrinkles are deep set; his jeans faded beyond reason. His boots are battered and sometimes he brings his daughter Elle with him. She is quiet and blonde and doesn’t really engage when Allie tries to speak to her.

Cassandra recently turned thirteen and has renewed vigour for being the best. Jasmine is fed only the best quality feed, and Victor Tompkins’ advice is followed to the letter. Victor has also made Cassandra cry three times, and her parents argue each time. Her mother hisses that he gets results, whilst her father grits out that _that is not all that matters, Amanda._

Late one evening, Cassandra curls up in Allie’s bed, sniffing and rubbing her hand across her eyes and admits, “sometimes I wish I’d never seen a horse.”

Allie is sympathetic, but she does not understand.

Jasmine grows more restless, starts to refuse her feed and spends her time in the paddock pacing the fence line. She is the only one in the paddock because Victor said it was better for her to be apart so she didn’t risk being kicked. Allie thinks she’s lonely, and sits on the fence for hours to keep her company.

“Don’t you have any friends?” Harry smirks as he rides by. Jasmine had finally settled, cropping at the grass, but at the sight of Fiji she whickers and starts up pacing again. Allie sighs in defeat.

“Horses are simpler.”

Harry stares at her for a short while. He does that quite a lot, between shouting at Cassandra. “Ain’t that the truth.”

*

It’s a Tuesday, and Allie takes her time saddling Jasmine. The slower she goes, the more relaxed the mare becomes. Allie murmurs soothingly, pressing reassuringly into her sides.

There is a sharp wind, which unsettles Jasmine. Allie buckles on her helmet and leads her out to the arena.

Harry is in the adjacent arena, practicing lasso swings on Indigo. His arm arches above his head and he brings the rope down sharply towards his target. He’s been speaking about branching out from just reining for a while; looking to moving into cutting and maybe even barrel racing. Allie is sure that whatever he decides, his dad will buy the appropriate horse for him.

Jasmine is unnerved by the wind, and the flying rope. Her nostrils flare uncertainly, but Allie sits deep and quietly and encourages her gently on. She can feel as Jasmine slowly starts to relax, head lowering and neck stretching down. Until a car pulls up sharply on the driveway, and the door is thrown open.

Elle follows her father out of the truck, her gaze worried. Jasmine skitters at the interruption, bunny hopping, her front feet leaving the ground.

“Hah!” he jabs a finger at her, triumphant. “Caught you!”

“What?” Allie hadn’t noticed Harry leave his arena, through the gate, and into hers. He is next to her, frowning at Victor, all thirteen-year-old indignation. Jasmine is reassured by Indigo’s presence and steadies to a wavering halt.

“You,” as if it explains everything. Recognition does not dawn on either child’s face. “You shouldn’t be riding her!”

Allie exchanges a look with Harry. “It’s a Tuesday. I always ride her on Tuesdays.”

“And Thursdays,” Harry adds.

“Your sister is trying to become the junior world champion. Her horse should not – and will not – be used to teach some child to learn to ride.”

“Allie knows how to ride!” Harry’s cheeks are flushed and he half shouts at Victor. “My mom says she could even be better than Cassandra, if anyone bothered to train her!”

Jasmine has picked up on the anger and shifts, uneasy. Allie places a hand on her neck to soothe her.

“Does she now,” Victor’s all snide tone and biting remarks. “That’s nice. But I’m Cassandra’s coach, and I say unless you want to ruin your sister’s dream, you’d better get off that horse and never get back on her.”

There is not much of a choice, so Allie kicks her feet from the stirrups and slides down. Jasmine turns her head to touch her muzzle to her forearm, and Allie scratches her forehead.

“Not so hard now, was it.”

Victor waits until Allie’s mom comes to pick her up. Elle stands behind Victor and Allie stands behind Amanda. Allie hears the phrases _a highly critical time in training_ and _any lack of consistency could jeopardise her whole programme._ And then _Jasmine is a highly trained sensitive animal, she needs one rider._

The car ride back to home is silent for a long while. Her mom seems at war with herself. Then she catches Allie’s eye in the rear-view mirror and says “I think it’s best if you don’t ride Jasmine for a while. Just until after worlds.”

Allie stares out the window and says nothing. She wonders if she will have to do less chores at the barn, but doubts it.

“Let’s tell Cassie and dad that you want to try something else for a change,” her mom decides, and Allie shrugs a shoulder.

“I can ask Harry if I can ride Indigo.” It’s a peace offering, a truce.

Her mom shakes her head, sighing. “I’d rather you didn’t ask the Bingham’s for anything, sweetie. It’s… complicated with them.”

So she doesn’t.

*

No one notices that she no longer rides. Instead she does all other menial jobs, like sweeping the barn, or helping Harry on the quadbike to level the arenas. She even scrubs the algae from troughs, and hammers some fence rails back into place.

Karen approaches her whilst she’s drinking a glass of cordial from the barn kitchen, as she sits and watches the horses in the field.

“Whilst I can’t say I don’t appreciate all the maintenance you’ve been doing, I am wondering whether you’re avoiding riding.”

Allie sips her drink and shrugs. In the distance, she can see Jasmine pacing.

“Did you have a fall?” Karen’s voice is gentle. “I know Jasmine is sharp – but it’s important to keep going, or you’ll lose your nerve.”

“No,” Allie stands up and finishes her cordial. “I just fancied something different.”

“Like cleaning troughs and driving the quad?” Karen looks amused, but also sad. Allie looks at her for a long time.

“I’ve got to go and get Jasmine in before mom comes. Bye, Mrs Bingham.”

*

It’s definitely not a coincidence when Harry Bingham offers her a ride on Indigo, but they both pretend it is. He does it casually, indifferently.

“I have way too much homework to ride both of them,” he sighs theatrically, and offers Allie Indigo’s bridle. “Trail ride?”

“It’s a hard life being rich and having too many horses, isn’t it,” Allie snipes back, but she’s already out of the stall and got Indigo’s bridle in her hands.

Allie likes Indigo. She reminds her of Jasper; a short, pony stride, stocky neck, square shoulders. The mare isn’t as fickle as Jasmine, not as reactive.

Getting along with Harry isn’t as hard as she anticipated. He regales her with tales of school, of his younger sister’s exploits. Makes her snort with laughter at his impersonation of Cassie, even though Allie thinks she should perhaps be defensive.

They arrive back later than they anticipated at the barn. There is a small entourage ready to greet them; Karen, Cassandra and Allie’s dad.

“I told you they’d be fine,” Karen is smiling, looking relaxed. She steps towards them, places a hand on Indigo’s bridle. “Did you guys have fun?”

Allie is concerned that Cassandra is here, feeling somewhat like she’s been caught out. Cassie never comes on a Thursday; it’s Allie’s day.

“Why aren’t you riding Jasmine?” Cassie demands. “I checked, and she hasn’t been ridden.”

Harry laughs a little from next to her, past her, as he leads Fiji into the barn. “Probably because Vicious Victor has told her not to.”

Cassandra goes very still, and so does her dad. Allie’s knees feel weak as she hits the ground and unbuckles her helmet. She pushes a hand through her hair.

“What? What is he saying? Allie?”

Allie scrambles for reassurance. “Just until after worlds,” she says, “just so I don’t ruin her.”

Her dad hisses out a breath, and Allie thinks it’s fury on his face. Gently, slowly, Karen pulls Indigo’s reins from her hands and leads her away.

“Does your mother know about this?” her dad asks, and his voice is low and flat.

Allie hesitates. Then she nods.

“Okay. Get in the car, girls.”

*

Their parents have a loud argument.

“I am just trying to do what’s best for them, Jim. She is so close to being world champion – you have no idea. She’d be set for _life_.”

“You have two daughters, Amanda. And this is not fair on Allie. It never has been, but particularly not now.” There is silence. “She shouldn’t be going to worlds – it’s so much money.”

The two sisters sit at the top of the stairs, Allie on the step in front, between Cassie’s knees. Cassie has her arms wrapped around Allie’s neck protectively.

“I’ve told mom you’re allowed to ride Jasmine,” Cassie whispers into her hair, her breath hot against her ear. “You make her so calm, it’s good for her.”

“What about Victor?” Allie whispers back, because she knows that he intimidates Cassie as well.

“Screw Victor,” Cassie juts her chin, and Allie giggles in delight.

*

Allie doesn’t ride Jasmine.

Harry keeps bringing her Indigo every Thursday evening, and they go on trail rides. When the light fades and they can’t see, Harry straps super strength head lamps to their helmets and they ride the trails closest to home.

They don’t tell anyone, but Allie thinks everybody knows.

Sometimes, things are best left unsaid.

*

It is five weeks away from worlds, and Allie can barely breath for the tension. Cassie and Harry studiously ignore each other.

It’s a bright sunny day, and the last competition before worlds. It’s more of a country fair then a proper reining competition – there’s stalls, barrel racing, cutting.

Victor dismisses Allie and her parents, so Allie goes wandering. Finds herself watching the cutting competition. She only understands the basics; the goal is to separate out one individual cow and keep it apart from the rest of the herd for a distinct amount of time.

Allie is surprised to see Karen standing at the fence, her hands curled around the bars. The cows are close to her, jostling at each other and lowing.

“Allie!” Karen at least seems pleased to see her. “Just in time. He’s up next.”

Allie is confused – and then she catches the familiar sight of Harry. He’s laughing, knee to knee with another boy on a chestnut mare. Fiji, his chestnut gelding, is quiet and still under him. There are four others looking ready to go into the ring – to help control the herd, Karen explains.

There is a signal, and then the boys enter the ring. Harry is suddenly solemn, serious, clucking his tongue to Fiji. The cows move as one pack, clanging against the metal bars of the ring.

“I didn’t know he was into cutting,” Allie says quietly. Karen looks at her, slightly surprised.

“It’s his first time in competition. He’s not sure how good he’ll be – Fiji used to cut a lot, but hasn’t for a while now. They’re both a bit out of practice.” Her eyes shine with pride as she considers her son.

The scoring criteria or requirements are not clear to Allie, but she thinks Harry seems to be doing a good job. Initially, he drives Fiji between the majority of the herd and a lone cow on the edge. He then keeps Fiji between the cow and the herd for a designated amount of time. Once over, he cues to Fiji who steps aside and the cow gladly rushes back.

The second cut is from within the centre. Fiji disappears amongst the pack, with Harry whistling. They identify one cow, dark brown, and Harry angles Fiji to drive the cow and separate it out. They’re six foot separate, Fiji firmly between the herd and the lone cow, when the cow lows once, mournfully, and runs, darting around the chestnut gelding.

“Was he good?” Allie asks, almost desperately, as Harry re-joins his companions and they leave the ring. He raises a fist on the way out, and the crowd laughs.

“Oh no, he was awful,” Karen laughs. “He’ll have probably scored the lowest.” She shrugs at Allie’s horrified look. “That’s not a bad thing, Allie. As long as he’s having fun.”

Her heart tightens in her chest as she watches Harry riding away. A few audience members have drifted to join him, are hitting his thigh or clapping Fiji’s neck.

Allie had never considered competitions to be fun before.

*

Cassandra’s performance coincided with Harry’s, and so Allie misses it. She is apologetic as she re-joins the group at the trailer. No one really seems to notice her anyway. Cassandra is staring defeatedly at her boots, whilst Victor is red in the face.

“This is not good enough, Cassandra,” Victor is saying, quietly. “What do you call that? Your spin had a whole extra rotation, your leads were way behind tempo.” He shakes his head, short and sharp and angry. “You were lucky to even claw into second.”

Tears burn tracks down Cassie’s face. Allie steps closer, placing an arm around her waist.

Jasmine, sensitive to conflict, dances nervously where she’s tied.

“A word please, Victor,” says Allie’s mom stiffly. 

Allie remains at the trailer, running a soothing hand down Jasmine’s neck. The mare stills, but flinches when Cassie moves to wipe tears from her eyes.

“You were great, Cassie,” the lie still feels true, even if Allie hadn’t been there to witness it.

“No, he’s right,” her sister’s voice is thick and miserable. “I haven’t been focussed recently. It’s hard – with school, and stuff.”

“He’s still an arsehole,” Allie looks at Cassie from under Jasmine’s belly. She is wrapping a bandage around the mare’s leg, to protect her whilst she’s travelling. The mare tenses for a moment, but Allie places a hand on her shoulder until she relaxes and remains still.

“You’re so good with her. And you were so good with Jasper.”

“This is all supposed to be fun, Cassie.” It’s almost a whisper; a confession.

“No. It’s a competition.”

Allie finishes wrapping Jasmine’s legs in silence.

When it comes to loading her onto the trailer, Jasmine refuses. She rears when Victor snatches the rope from Cassandra and pulls her forwards, which drags him out of the trailer and staggering forwards. “Damn mare!” he drops the rope and stalks off, returning moments later with a crop. “Cassandra – stand in the trailer and pull,” he commands, and raises the crop at the palomino.

Jasmine reacts just as quickly. As soon as the crop connects with her hindquarters, she lashes out, both hind legs. She catches Victor on the thigh and he falls backwards, face twisting with fury. In a clatter of metal, Jasmine jumps into the trailer. Victor recovers quickly enough to pull Cassie out, and ram the bolts home.

“Did you tie her up?” Allie asks – and Cassie shakes her head quickly.

“Doesn’t matter,” Victor growls. “She’s on now. Take her home.” Allie frets the whole way home that Jasmine will hurt herself – get tangled in her rope, or launch herself out of the trailer before the doors are open, and hurt someone else. She only breaths easy once the doors are opened to Jasmine cowering at the back, slightly damp with sweat, but unharmed.

Whilst everyone else is unloading the car and trailer of equipment, Allie checks Jasmine over. The mare flinches and twitches away as her hand passes over her hindquarters. There is a singular welt, raised and angry, and a drop or two of blood. Hands trembling with barely suppressed rage, Allie searches quickly through the various lotions in the cabinet in the tack room, before finding the manuka honey. She’s seen Karen using it on various wounds to promote healing.

It takes twenty minutes of quiet persistence before Jasmine allows Allie to smooth the honey over the welt. Allie mumbles under her breath to her the whole time. Whilst screwing the lid back on the honey, she flinches as she catches sight of Cassandra is at the door. Allie doesn’t know how long she’s been stood there, but her gaze is inscrutable.

“Time to go home, Allie.”

*

It’s three weeks before worlds, and Harry Bingham breaks his arm.

It’s in a cast, and strapped across his body. Everyone stops to coo over him when he returns to the barn. He catches Allie’s eye through the crowd. She holds a pitchfork in one hand, and it makes her stomach feel strange when he seeks her out.

“How did you do it?” they’re alone as Allie forks muck into a wheelbarrow. The smell of horse pee and droppings is heavy in the air, but Allie doesn’t mind it. Never really has.

Harry heaves a heavy sigh, as though the weight of the world is on his thirteen-year-old shoulders. “Cassandra couldn’t bare the thought of me winning at worlds, so she crept up behind me and pushed me off the fence. I think she learnt the trick from her nasty little sister.”

Allie is tempted to throw the fork at him. Instead, she throws the forkful with a little more force than necessary, and it lands on his new, polished cowboy boots.

*

Allie doesn’t want to think that her sister is relieved Harry has been hurt, but she thinks she might be. Her sister talks to her less during the run up to the championship. Everything is geared towards it; her parents have arranged for leave from work, the flights and accommodation for horse, rider and parents. Her mom has a checklist around a foot long, and keeps fretting that she’s forgotten something.

Allie saves all of her pocket money, and buys navy bandages with gold stars on them for the journey over. She presents them to Cassie solemnly, informing her that they are the lucky bandages.

Allie’s parents don’t want to pull her out of school as well, and so they’ve arranged for her to stay with her cousins.

“Why don’t you stay here?” Harry has taken to following Allie around the barn out of sheer boredom, annoying her at every turn. He drums his heels against the school’s railings, watching Allie as she cools Fiji down. Allie is flattered that Harry entrusts her with the gelding, but irritated that he insists on watching her like a hawk whenever she works with him.

Allie looks at him steadily, whilst experimenting with neck reining Fiji. The gelding is a lot more responsive than she is expecting, and she gasps as he whips around, changing direction as if she was just flipping a page in a book and not half a ton of animal. Harry laughs from the fence.

“It makes sense. I can’t really do much,” he holds his arm aloft, “and you really love shovelling shit, so…”

She scowls at him, and he smiles back. “Not a chance,” she snaps.

He asks his parents, and she asks hers, and they both agree that it does make sense.

*

The first thing that strikes her about his house is his sister. Her name is Olivia and she is barely one, crawling around on the floor and pulling herself up by the furniture. Harry picks her up and perches her on his hip, crooning in baby talk in her face. When he sees Allie watching, he pulls a face at her.

Karen makes them pancakes in the morning, and sends them out for morning chores. Allie has been coming to the barn almost every day for six years, but there is a new novelty of stepping out of the farmhouse and walking the two hundred yards to the barns. The horses all nicker and whinny a morning chorus when they slide the barn doors open, and Allie enjoys stroking each long face as she dishes out their grain.

They muck some stalls out, and put the horses in their allocated paddocks. If there’s enough time before school (there rarely is) Allie rides, whilst Harry watches, yelling out directions. They’re mainly insults.

“My grandma rides better than you! And she’s dead!”

At the weekend, it’s more time at the barn. It’s bright and sunny, and Allie burns and peels. Karen tuts when she sees her, insists on smearing sunblock where she can reach. She wears Olivia strapped to her front in a sling, and watches Harry and Allie closely.

Harry hits the accelerator on the quad bike whilst they’re levelling the arena, making Allie scream.

Harry’s dad is around at the weekends, which makes dinner more subdued. It doesn’t stop Harry making faces at both Allie and Olivia in equal measures, making them both laugh.

Afterwards they sit on the couch, bickering whilst Allie makes him watch Spirit.

“It’s not just a horse film,” she insists, as she presses play. “It’s an _experience_.”

“Every horse film is the same,” he argues back, “girl meets horse, horse wins everything, horse gets injured, then horse makes a great recovery and wins everything again. It’s not realistic, and they all suck.”

He gets drawn in anyway, and only makes fun of her slightly when she mouths along with the soundtrack. At the poignant moment when Little Creek releases Rain and Spirit to return to the herd, Harry sniffs loudly.

“Is that how you felt when they sold Jasper?”

Allie shoves him off the couch with her feet.

*

Allie’s parents are due to be gone for two and a half weeks in total, which allowed Jasmine a few days to settle once she’d landed. Cassandra rings her, and it feels surreal that she is a whole continent away.

Cassandra speaks fast, tripping over her words. “It’s so weird here Al – cool as well. Everyone’s been so friendly. I feel really nervous though, and like I’m going to faint all the time. Jasmine’s really nervous – she almost threw me today,” there is rustling down the line, like she is moving into a different room. “I wish you were here,” she admits, her voice a mumble. “You know how to calm her down, and Victor keeps winding her and dad up.”

Allie waits for the familiar twinge of jealousy, but it isn’t as strong as she expects it to be. “You’ll be fine. Just stay relaxed. If you want to calm Jasmine down, give her a groom. Take her out of her stable as well – I think she gets claustrophobic.”

Cassie laughs down the line, a little bitter. “I don’t think I can – Victor says she’s only leaving her stall to either train, or win.”

Allie’s frowning when she hangs up the phone, having spoken briefly with her mom and dad. Harry wanders back into the room with a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream and two spoons.

“What’s up?”

“Victor’s an asshole.”

“You’re telling me.”

He hands her a spoon.

*

The call comes at 2am, which is 9pm British Summer Time.

The door to the Bingham’s guest room creaks open slowly, and Karen’s footsteps are light on the wooden floorboard.

“Allie, honey,” her hand is light on her shoulder, but firm. Allie groans and pushes her face into the pillow. It smells how Harry smells, and she doesn’t want to admit how much it soothes her. “Allie,” Karen insists, and then she’s handing her a phone and Allie is blinking sleep out of her eyes and sitting up, frowning. “It’s your dad,” Karen whispers. Allie stares at the phone for a moment, because this is definitely not how good news is conveyed.

“Hello?”

Turns out Cassandra didn’t just feel like she was going to faint. Cassandra did faint. Or collapse. And have a heart attack, all at once.

*

They fly Cassandra home, and that is when they discover she has a congenital heart defect. She needs surgery, and a prescription of pills that could fill a side of A4. Allie holds her hand before and after each surgery, and her dad helps her to fill her room with banners and balloons for her birthday. It is definitely not how she probably expected to turn fourteen, but Allie tries her hardest to make her laugh anyway. After Cassie blows out all the candles on her cake, they curl up on the hospital bed and watch Spirit together.

Halfway through, Cassie whispers “I don’t think I want to ride anymore.”

Allie just smiles and squeezes her hand.

*

Allie still goes to the barn almost every single day, her dad tapping out patterns on the steering wheel as he drives her. Their mom mostly stays with Cassie in hospital, but they want to retain some modicum of normality.

Turning up the long drive and seeing the rooves of the barns always soothes her, no matter how she’s feeling.

Without the pressure of competition, Jasmine seems to have relaxed a notch. Allie rides her, feeling like an imposter when she does, but just to keep her exercised for when Cassandra returns.

Karen has purchased a tiny, white Shetland, for Olivia. When Snowy escapes into Jasmine’s paddock, no one bothers to return her to the correct side of the fence. Jasmine follows the tiny white pony the whole time, her muzzle almost resting on his tail.

“Imagine their babies,” Harry has joined her, sitting on the fence and watching Jasmine. It is a habit that is no longer required, but it makes Allie feel calm inside to be surrounded by grass and horses. If she breathes in deeply, it smells like home.

“They’d either be small and gold, or big and white.”

“Or a massive, monstrous version of Snowy, with his massive knees and big head.” There’s a beat of silence. “It would still be prettier than you, though.”

She pushes him off the fence, forgetting for a moment about his broken arm.

*

Cassandra comes home two months after worlds. Allie makes a banner and hangs it in the hallway, and Cassie laughs when she sees it, before promptly bursting into tears. Her mom helps her up to bed, and shuts the door behind her.

“I think she just needs some time, Al,” her mom smooths Allie’s hair as she passes.

Allie creeps in anyway, and throws herself onto her sister’s bed, across her feet.

“I’ve missed you.”

Cassie rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “You saw me yesterday.”

*

Allie overhears an argument between her parents.

“The doctor said it was fine for her to ride, Jim.”

“He also said that she wasn’t to suffer any undue stress.”

“Riding is not stressful! It is one of the least physically demanding forms of exercise.”

“The competing is. She had a heart attack because of it, Amanda.”

Allie can feel rather than see her mother recoiling. “Are you saying that going to worlds caused this? That _I_ caused this?”

“Nobody caused this.” Her father sounds tired. “How about we just let her decide. But you have to let her know that there is no pressure, either way. It has to be her decision.”

*

Driving with Cassandra to the barn feels like a ceremonial occasion. Their dad opens the door for them, and Allie and Cassie walk arm in arm down the barn to Jasmine’s stall. The mare swings her head from her haynet, ears flickering expectantly. Then she whickers softly and crosses the stall before burying her muzzle into Allie’s shoulder.

It feels odd and out of sequence, as Allie saddles and bridles her. Cassie raises her hand to buckle the bridle, and Jasmine flinches.

Jasmine is fresh, a spring in her step as she walks out the barn. She stands still for a second as Allie drags over steps for Cassie to use, but then the mare prances around the block, stepping out of reach every time Cassie places her foot in the stirrup. Eventually, Allie holds her bridle and the mare stills long enough for Cassie to mount. Her sister didn’t look at her, but resolutely forwards, as she rides into the ring.

Cassie rides around the ring once, then twice. Jasmine ears flick towards and away from her in confusion, her teeth grinding against the bit. Harry is in the next arena, practicing cutting with Fiji. Jasmine flinches as Fiji canters at the arena railings and turns at the last second.

Cassie flinches as well. Then she draws to a stop next to them all, and dismounts. She hands the reins to Allie, who runs her fingernail over the corner of the leather.

“I don’t want to ride anymore,” Cassie announces, and her face is set in resolution. “You should give Jasmine to Allie. I think they’d make a great team.”

Cassie climbs the fence, and there is a metallic squeal moments later as she opens the door to the Pressman’s truck and climbs in.

“I’ll go speak to her.”

It leaves Allie and her dad, who is looking at her sadly. “We can’t afford to keep her, Allie,” his tone is gentle, soft. “She’s worth – well, a lot – and if she’s not competing…” He stops, then starts again. “Cassie’s medical bills…”

Allie nods, and she does understand.

Jasmine’s advert goes up the next day.

*

“It sucks about Jasmine.” Harry scuffs his toe in the dirt and kicks it up. Allie hums, pulling the comb through the mare’s tail. The air in the barn is stuffy, claustrophobic. Her hair sticks to the back of her neck.

“It’s okay.” Allie has been repeating that to herself all evening, as the phone rang off the hook with enquiries about the mare. Jasmine was so pretty and eye-catching, it was no surprise that people had been waiting to snap her up. “I’m kind of over horses anyway, so.”

Harry looks at her, and she looks at him levelly back. Neither point out that she’s lying.

*

Many people come to try Jasmine. Allie shows her off for each of them.

Her least favourite is a man who looks in his mid to late thirties, who shoves a new Stetson on his head and strides forward with swagger. His jeans still have an ironed-in crease. He mutters “let’s have a look at you,” and grabs Jasmine by the bridle, dragging her head into the light. Jasmine’s nostril’s flare in horror.

He looks like he thinks he can own anything in the world, if he just offers enough money.

Allie wishes Cassie was there to share a horrified look with. Instead, she rides Jasmine a little harshly, so the mare throws her head and pins her ears, at one point stopping and cow kicking out sideways in protest at Allie’s leg.

The man leaves without getting on.

When Allie looks over at the barn, both Harry and Karen are smirking at her. Her mother just sighs.

*

In the end, the best match is an eleven-year-old girl.

Her name is also Jasmine, and it was that coincidence which inspired her mother to ring up in enquiry. Her hair is the same golden shade as Jasmine’s coat. Allie watches her sharply from the cover of the barn, as the girl walks across the yard. Snowy is loose in the yard, and the girl reaches out a hand, offering it to him to smell before scratching his neck.

Allie looks at her mother and nods her head.

She shows Jasmine off to the best of her ability; all quiet, easy touches, low words. Jasmine responds, and by the time Allie brings her to a halt Jasmine’s neck is damp with sweat.

Allie gives human-Jasmine a boost into the saddle, and then stands with both of the mothers at the fence.

“Are you sure you want to sell her?” human-Jasmine’s mother questions. “You ride her so sweetly.”

“I’m sure.” Allie is firm. “She’s not mine, anyway.”

*

They come with their trailer and truck the next weekend. Cassie doesn’t feel very well, so it’s Jim who drives Allie to the barn. He’s cleared out the back of the truck and put the seats down, so they can take everything they own home.

Allie brushes Jasmine until she shines, and then wraps her legs in bandages. The navy blue ones with gold stars. At the last minute she changes her mind, and swaps them for a faded red set.

Her dad takes a picture of them outside the barn.

Initially Jasmine refuses to load, but then Allie takes the rope and she only skitters once as the girl leads her forwards and into the dark trailer. The mare’s eyes roll and she steps back, jolting the trailer. Allie ensures she’s tied securely, and then places a hand on her neck. “Be good, and look after Jasmine,” she whispers, and the mare blinks slowly at her.

Allie likes to think she’s got the message.

Her dad wraps an arm around her shoulder as they watch the trailer roll down the drive and out of the gate.

It is a long process to load up their truck with all of the equipment they’ve accumulated over the years. Allie is slightly embarrassed by the sheer quantity; they’re cramming saddle cloths and bandages into crevices the truck itself probably didn’t realise it had.

Harry is exercising Fiji in the arena, but Allie knows he’s really watching them because he almost crashes into the arena fence twice during a mock cutting exercise.

Finally, they are all loaded up. Karen comes out to see them off, and Harry stands, half behind her.

“Don’t become a stranger,” Karen pulls Allie into a hug, and then shakes Jim’s hand. “You’re welcome here any time, Allie. Really.”

“You can still come and ride Indigo,” Harry pipes up. Allie can’t decide what expression is on his face. “Even _you_ can’t ruin her.”

Allie flips him off, and her dad doesn’t even reprimand her.

She takes a big, deep breath before she gets into the truck. Her dad waits until she’s buckled in before starting the engine. He takes a long look at her, and then squeezes her hand.

“Ready?” he asks. Her eyes are full of tears, but she nods, and he starts the engine.

Harry doesn’t budge an inch from their rearview mirror, not whilst they’re cruising slowly down the driveway. Not even when she’s squinting to still see him. Finally, they pull out of the driveway and onto the road.

Allie heaves a breath in, and sits back in her seat. The cracked leather is warm under her hands.

It feels a lot like an ending.


	2. two.

*

There is suddenly so much time in the world, and Allie isn’t quite sure how to fill it.

They sell Jasmine in the September, and they go back to school immediately afterwards. It’s Allie’s last year in middle school, so she tries to make it count. Cassie encourages her to join extra-curricular activities, such as debate club.

There is more time to spend with her parents, so she goes on shopping trips to the big out of town mall with her mom. Her mom buys her quarter of a new wardrobe for the new school year, and Allie tries to train herself out of considering whether anything she buys will also be suitable for riding in.

It leads her to sorting out her closet and Cassie finds her sitting on her bedroom floor, a pair of jeans wrapped around her neck. There’s several piles of clothes as Allie sorts through them, undecided as to what she’s keeping and what she’s letting go.

“I don’t think you should throw all your old stuff out. You might need it for the barn.”

Allie looks at her, solemn. She does not want to point out the obvious.

Cassie rolls her eyes. “Let’s stop pretending you’re going to be able to stay away.”

Allie squashes the clothes onto the floor of her closet and stamps them down so they’re as small as they can go. Eventually, her room stops smelling of sweet horse sweat and her clothes no longer have suspicious green and brown stains. She doesn’t have to scrape brown sludge from under her nails in the shower.

Christmas passes, and New Year, and Allie’s allowed one and a half glasses of white wine for her thirteenth birthday, in February. She falls asleep on the couch and her dad carries her to bed, only complaining twice about how heavy she is, and how it hurts his back.

He lies her on the covers and she stares at the ceiling and sighs.

He passes a hand over her head and says, “I know, sweetie,” even though she hasn’t said a word.

Allie spends more time with her cousin Sam, and his best friend Becca. They’re starting High School in September and the prospect is daunting. She starts to fall into rhythm with their in jokes; and then she is a permanent fixture – Sam and Becca coming round for dinner, watching movies with the subtitles on. Half of her thinks it’s because she’s convenient – Sam’s house has his brother Campbell, and Becca never talks about her home life – but Allie will take what she can.

She still spends a lot of time lying on Cassie’s bed, across her feet, and sighing.

Finally, when Cassie walks in on Allie watching Spirit in the dark for the fourth time that week, Cassie snaps.

“Come on!” she pulls the blanket off Allie, which makes her mew in protest. “Come watch my debate team practice.”

Allie rolls her eyes and complains, but can’t deny the temptation of having an inside look at the elusive High School and being able to report back to Sam and Becca.

It is always strange, seeing someone out of context, and it is jolting to see Cassandra in a school setting. Her eyes are clear and focussed, and she absolutely annihilates her first opponent by arguing that schools are designed to be more in favour of boys than girls. She uses words like patriarchy and misogyny, and her wit and intellect leave Allie in awe.

There is a pause between debates whilst the teacher discusses both students’ performances with them, offering pointers.

Cassandra’s second opponent is Harry Bingham.

It’s the first time Allie has seen him in sixth months, and he is at once so familiar, but so different. He’s taller, and he’s broader in his chest and arms. His chin seems blunter, but his cheekbones more defined. He’s wearing jeans, but one’s too tight to ride in, and a button down blue striped shirt, with sneakers. It’s too clean and polished, a contrast to his usual barn attire. There’s swagger in his step as he takes the podium next to Cassie.

Their debate topic is _can money buy happiness_?

Cassie is on the opposing side. She starts. She is calm and collected as she lists things money can’t buy: love, friends, health.

“I do not believe you can buy love – proper love, all consuming love you have for friends and family. People can love you for your money, but there will always be the question of whether they love you, or they love your money. And that sounds unbearably lonely. Money will never buy your little sister holding your hand in your hospital bed, or staying with you all night before surgery,” here Cassie catches Allie’s eye and smiles, and Harry does a double take, as if only just noticing she was there.

It wasn’t like Allie had hidden herself from him. She’d always been there, sat next to Cassie and Gordie, when Harry arrived – five minutes late and unapologetic. He just hadn’t been looking.

“I think as soon as you start doubting anyone’s true motives, it will ruin any semblance of happiness.”

“Thank you, Cassandra,” his tone is gracious, but Allie recognises the look on his face and she is almost fearful for Cassie and how this is going to progress. Harry pauses, and looks around the room. Allie wants to laugh a little at him.

“I appreciate that love is not necessarily a tangible thing, and yes, it cannot be purchased with money. But money does buy your necessary heart surgery, or pay for health insurance premiums each month. It allows you to not think twice when someone close to you requires something, and enables you to try new things – to travel, or eat dinner out.” He continues, his voice lowers as he repeats some statistic he read somewhere they most divorces are attributable to money troubles. “You talk of love, Cassandra, but it is really money that makes the world go around, and the truth is, without the money to fly you back from Britain or pay for your heart surgery, you wouldn’t have been able to hold you sister’s hand ever again.” Cassandra’s jaw clenches and she glares at him. “Besides, money can buy you horsepower, and that’s the closest damn thing to happiness you can get.”

Allie doesn’t know whether he means horses, or cars, and is somewhat annoyed at how vague he’s been. He hasn’t mentioned the barn once.

The students assembled in the classroom take a vote. Harry wins by two points.

“I’d rather be sad in a Ferrari,” someone pipes up, and the class laughs. Cassie doesn’t.

Harry catches up with the sisters as they wait for Jim to pull into the parking lot.

“Allie!” he has a broad, easy smile on his face. “Didn’t expect to see you doing something intellectually enriching.”

Allie glares forcefully at him, and behind her Cassie sighs loudly.

Karen beeps her horn across the parking lot, and Harry throws her an almost annoyed look. Then she’s winding down her window and yelling, “hey Allie, Cassie! We miss you!”

Harry closes his eyes in annoyance. “We don’t,” he tells Allie loftily, but then he’s setting off across the parking lot and getting into the back of the truck. When Allie squints, she can see him covering Olivia in kisses in her booster seat.

“God, he’s such an asshole since he started High School,” Cassie complains, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I used to have such a crush on him.” Allie looks at her sharply, shocked. Cassie rolls her eyes. “Oh, it’s a rite of passage, to have a crush on Harry Bingham. You’ll see.”

Allie wrinkles her nose, and hopes she never does.

*

It’s a long summer, and not too hot. Allie catches herself thinking several times that it is the perfect weather for a trail ride. She craves the coolness of the shade beneath the trees.

Her and Sam and Becca pick ripe raspberries off vines, and then her mom helps her make her famous raspberry cordial recipe. Allie burns herself twice on a hot pan, but she’s finally victorious. And surrounded by twenty bottles of the stuff.

She takes a bottle to Sam, gives a bottle to Becca. Then finds her dad on one quiet Sunday morning, and asks him to drive her to the barn.

It’s almost been a year, since she’s been there. But the drive passes quickly, familiar, and the driveway is soon in sight. The arenas, to the left of the drive look like they need levelling, and the paint on the barns is peeling. There’s an iron grey being ridden in one arena, its dark coat reflecting the sun. Allie instinctively knows it’s Harry, from the set of the shoulders and the ease in which they move in the saddle. He looks around at the appearance of their truck.

Snowy is loose in the yard, and trots over as Allie unlatches the gate. Karen emerges from the barn, her hand shading her eyes from the sun.

“Allie!” she strides across the yard, and somewhere behind her, Olivia toddles. Allie feels foolish, suddenly, and out of place. She brandishes three bottles of raspberry cordial.

“I made too much cordial,” she explains, and Karen takes the bottles, smiling.

“Oh, we have missed your mom’s cordial,” she juggles the bottles under one arm, and places a hand on Olivia’s head as the girl wraps her arms around her leg. “I tried to make my own but it wasn’t the same.” She half turns away, bottles in hand. “There’s a broom with your name on it, if you fancy it.” The offer hangs between them, heavy and loaded. Over Karen’s shoulder, Allie can see Indigo’s being led out of the barn by a girl Allie doesn’t recognise.

Allie looks to her left, and the grey is motionless in the arena, facing them. “I’m not really into horses anymore,” she lies. “I just came by to drop off some cordial.” She thinks if she starts again she will not be able to stop, and there is no point pursuing something she cannot afford. Her heart still aches when she thinks of Jaspar.

Karen nods, but doesn’t look convinced. “We’ll always be here, Allie.” It sounds like a promise. Allie is surprised to feel a lump in her throat, and tries to swallow it down.

“Well, nice to see you Mrs Bingham.”

Karen hums and watches her leave, as she climbs into the truck and her dad starts the engine and drives off.

When she looks back at Harry, he’s turned away.

*

The rest of the summer passes slowly, almost painfully. She visits the local swimming pool with Sam and Becca, and can’t help but notice the half glances she attracts in her swim suit. She’s put on weight since stopping all barn chores; is no longer all sinew and limbs. She thinks it suits her.

Allie doesn’t think she’s moping, but there is just so much time. She can’t help it if she spends a lot of it lying on the couch, limbs spilling off. Her parents throw her concerned looks. She can hear them talking in low voices, hears her name.

Then it’s suddenly High School induction day, and her dad’s lining her and Cassie up on the doorstep, camera in hand. Cassandra complains, sighing theatrically. She’s recently turned fifteen and developed a new attitude along with it.

Allie meets Sam and Becca outside the school gates and they walk in together, elbows bumping as they sign amongst each other. Allie sees Harry getting out of his mom’s truck and waves, smiling, giddy with the newness of the occasion.

Harry frowns at her and turns away.

Allie tries not to let it sting, but it does, as if she’d just grabbed a fistful of nettles with her bare hand.

*

It’s almost Allie’s fourteenth birthday when her dad beckons into the living room. He’s sitting on the couch, and it feels strangely formal and somehow familiar, but she can’t say why.

He hands her an auction catalogue. When she opens the glossy cover, it’s filled with pages and pages of horses, all with a brief description and guide bidding price next to them. The auction is due to be held on Saturday.

“Your budget is $1,000,” he whispers. “Don’t tell your mother.”

“I can hear you!” Amanda calls from the kitchen, and her dad grins at her.

*

Sam and Becca quickly grow tired of her pouring over the catalogue. They steal it from her, drawing devil horns and other unnecessary accessories on the small pictures which accompany each advert.

“Is this like lonely hearts for horses?” Becca clears her throat and reads one advert aloud, hands moving with each signed word. _“15 hand 11 year old bay gelding, clean legs, good temperament,”_ she snorts with derision.

 _“Yours would be: 5 foot nothing brunette, bad temperament, short legs, and has to be muzzled or will attack,”_ Sam signs at Becca, smirking. _“And your guide bidding price would be ten cents.”_

Becca sits back, offended. “I’m five foot one!”

Sam and Allie share a look over Becca’s head. Crossing her arms across her body, Becca shoves the catalogue back across the table towards Allie. Except the table surface is silky smooth, and instead of stopping at Allie, the catalogue flies off and across the aisle.

It lands precisely, perhaps cosmically, at Harry Bingham’s sneaker clad feet. He picks it up and appraises the cover, before considering the threesome. His gaze is focussed on Allie.

“Why thank you, Pressman.” Allie can’t quite get used to his new, broken voice. Shrugs a shoulder and looks determinedly over his shoulder. He rolls the catalogue into a tube, and strides off out of the library with it.

“Sorry,” Becca whispers quietly, but Allie smiles at her anyway.

“It’s okay. You can’t tell much from the adverts, anyway.”

Later that day she finds the catalogue posted through her locker, some pages with turned down corners. She flips to them, and finds certain horses circled. There is also scrawled commentary throughout, the word _steady_ underlined and annotated with _aka pig lazy_ , _handsome mare_ accompanied by _always gets mistaken for a boy and her owner gets offended by it._ She drops her chin to her chest to hide her smile. When she closes her locker door, Harry is across the hallway, watching her.

Allie smiles at him, and lifts the catalogue. He nods, briefly, but then turns away.

It’s only later that evening, when she’s perusing the catalogue once more, that Allie realises he’s only circled horses valued at $10,000 upwards. She sighs at the impossibility that is Harry Bingham.

*

The auction is held forty five minutes away, in a vast, sprawling cattle market. Allie can feel the buzz of excitement as their truck pulls into the entrance, the empty trailer rattling behind them. There are trailers and trucks and horses everywhere, ranging from tiny falabellas to heavy breed horses, and thoroughbreds.

The horses are contained in metal fenced pens, with a laminated information sheet attached to the bars. Allie walks slowly, with her dad following, alternating between squinting at the catalogue and finding the corresponding horse. Out of interest, she locates one Harry circled. The mare is stout, but she has powerful quarters and her red coat is flecked with white, making her look like a strawberry.

The mare is also ten times the budget Allie has, so although she feeds her a sugar cube, she leaves her be. There is no use pining over what could never be.

Allie had invited Cassie and her mom, but they’d declined. Amanda had made them promise not to buy anything wildly inappropriate.

Allie circles the shed for an hour, watching as the pens slowly start to empty as the auction commences. It is fast, and she can hear the auctioneer on the loud speakers. There are horses everywhere, and the air is heavy with sweat and nerves. There are crowds of people building, climbing the bars of pens, running hands over limbs, checking teeth and ears and prodding quarters. There is a sudden crash, and shouting, and then two men are on the bars of a pen, pulling a third man from inside.

The culprit of the commotion stands at the back, sides heaving, nostrils flared. His ears are pinned so far back they’re lost under the black and white tangle of his mane. When he swings his head, moving quickly, Allie sees he has one electric blue eye.

Allie steps to the bars and clucks her tongue lowly. The gelding doesn’t even look at her, but she gets a clearer view. He’s about 14 hands, and looks like someone has stood some distance from a white horse and either tipped or flicked black paint all over him. His markings are indistinct, muddled, with a white patch over his blue eye. Allie can see the shadow of his ribs when he moves, sees the hollows under his hips.

His neck is set on too low, and his head is too big. His quarters are half a hand taller than his shoulders, so he slopes downwards. He has two pink hooves and a mostly pink muzzle. He snatches his feet up, and lashes out at the pen sides. The fence rattles with the force, and the mare in the next pen startles, pressing herself against the opposite side.

Allie looks at her dad.

“Oh, no you don’t.”

Allie’s already reading the information sheet. He’s listed as being four years old, with unknown breeding, and unknown riding ability.

“Aren’t blue eyes unlucky, anyway?” her dad starts with a different tactic.

“It’s called a wall eye,” Allie reads equestrian magazines a little too obsessively, and can never bring herself to throw them away. “That’s just superstition. Once upon a time, all talented women were suspected of being witches.”

Her dad’s gaze is heavy on her back. The gelding doesn’t respond as she clucks her tongue again.

One of the men who’d helped pull the third free approaches them. “I wouldn’t get too close, he’s real mean.” The gelding bares his teeth.

Allie doesn’t move. Her dad sighs.

“He’s only going to go for meat, dad,” she mutters quietly, and that is perhaps what does it.

“I’ll offer you $500,” Jim says authoritatively to the man, pulling out his cheque book.

The man laughs. “Hell, I’ll take $400 if it means I don’t have to take him in the ring. But he is really, really mean.”

It takes four grown men to get him into the trailer. The gelding twists and bucks, with one man inside pulling him, and three crossing ropes behind to lever him in. In the end, someone creates a make-shift hobble, pulling one of his forelegs tight to his chest. Even on three legs he fights, sweat foaming on his neck, nostrils flaring. His blue eye rolls wildly. Eventually he’s contained, and someone cuts him free of the ropes.

The trailer rattles, bouncing on the road with every precisely aimed kick, for the entire forty-five minutes return trip. Jim grips the steering wheel extremely tightly, as if it will steady the swaying trailer. Allie isn’t surprised when they pull up the Bingham’s drive, because where else would they go?

Karen is sitting waiting for them, bundled in a jacket. Olivia plays in an empty arena, dressed in overalls and building a sandcastle. “You took your time,” Karen says by way of greeting. “Find anything nice?”

Allie winces as hooves drum against the side of the trailer, vaguely close to her head. Karen looks amused.

They back the trailer to the round pen, and open the doors. The gelding shoots out, ears pinned, looking thoroughly offended. He circles the round pen at an authoritative trot, head high.

“Christ,” Harry is smirking. “He looks like he’s three different horses all stuck together. Maybe four.” Allie sees Karen glance away, quickly, lips pressing together to hide her grin. Harry’s pushing a wheelbarrow full of hay, though, so Allie can’t be too angry with him.

They set about spreading piles of hay for the gelding. They fill buckets of water and heave them across the yard. The paint watches them warily from the opposite side of the round pen, but takes a long drink and snatches at strands of hay when everyone retreats.

“Well,” Karen breaks the silence. “He’ll certainly keep you busy.”

*

It is dark after school, so she has to work with the gelding under the floodlights. It takes three days to get a halter on him, and that is only after two hours of Allie trudging after him. It is the world’s slowest game of tag; every time she catches up with him, he moves off again. Eventually, finally, he heaves a sigh. Allie looks the opposite way, so she doesn’t threaten him, and slips the halter over his nose.

“Nice, Pressman,” Harry stands on the bottom rung of the round pen, leaning over the top railing. The gelding snorts at the interruption, and swerves away from Allie, kicking his heels up at her. The halter swings from his face, half buckled.

Allie is annoyed but finds herself standing next to Harry anyway. Besides the catalogue, he is yet to acknowledge she exists outside of the farm. He is a different person in school, playing to an audience. Allie’s not sure she likes it.

“Have you named him yet?” Harry climbs the bars and sits on the top rail. Allie pulls herself up next to him, a foot apart. The floodlight behind him illuminates his wayward hair, throws his face into shadow.

“Not yet.”

“How about Frankenstein?” Allie is tempted to push him off the railings. Instead she scowls at him. “Jankenstein? Because you obviously have to follow the J theme.” She pauses, looking at him. “Come on, Allie. Jasper, Jasmine.”

“Maybe Jigsaw, then.”

Harry snorts, and he’s climbing back down the fence. “That is the most unoriginal name for a paint ever. Are you even trying?”

Allie watches as the paint paws at a pile of hay, scattering it into the sand.

She calls him Jigsaw anyway, mostly out of spite. Even buys a butter soft leather halter and gets a metal plaque on the side, inscribed with his name.

Harry rolls his eyes when he sees it.

*

Cassie and her mom come and visit Jigsaw a week later. Allie is making slow progress, but she can now halter the horse.

Cassie laughs when she sees him. Her mom looks vaguely horrified, as Jigsaw prances around the round pen and refuses to be caught. Allie stands in the middle, halter in one hand, staring into the middle distance because horses find direct eye contact threatening.

“Jim,” her mom turns, hands on hips. Jim is currently halfway up a ladder with a paintbrush in one hand. Allie now spends so much time at the barn that he sometimes doesn’t bother going home, instead doing maintenance. “I told you nothing unsuitable!”

Jigsaw stops, head raised high, tail flicking.

“God, he’s the polar opposite of Jasmine,” says Cassie.

“At least Jasmine was useful,” Harry is always there, interjecting, leaning over the railings and teasing.

Allie ignores him.

*

For Harry’s fifteenth birthday, his dad buys him a huge, brand new horsebox. It’s fifteen tons unladen, the wheels crunching on the potholes as the delivery driver navigates the uneven driveway.

Allie is shameless in her enthusiasm. The seats are leather covered, with a cut through to the living quarters. The outside is dark grey and black, Harry’s name splashed everywhere in large white lettering.

Above the cab is a double mattress, with a safety net and enough room to sit up. There’s a hob, an oven, a TV, a table and seating area.

Karen presses a button, and the sides slide out on their hydraulics, doubling the living floorspace.

There’s even a toilet, a sink and a shower. Allie becomes minorly obsessed with pressing the handles of the cupboards in so they sit flush and locked. The cupboards latch shut, so nothing comes flying out when they’re travelling.

“It sleeps four,” says Karen, pulling Olivia away from the ladder to the double bed above the cab. “You just pull out the seats and add an extra panel.”

Harry plays with the lights, switching on blue LED lights. Then he blasts the air conditioning, as high as it will go, right into Allie’s face.

The box is stalled for five horses. When they drop the ramp to the horse area, the roan mare Allie saw at the auction two months ago swings her head and blinks in the sudden sunlight.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” says Karen.

It makes her present seem inadequate – a photo montage of all the pictures her dad and Karen have taken over the years. There are more photos than Allie had anticipated, of Harry and Indigo, or him and Fiji. Some small, snapshots of moments – Harry and Allie scowling at each other backstage at the US championships, Harry sitting laughing on a fence and faintly, in the background, Allie lying in the sand. She’s cut them all up so they fit around each other, layers upon layers, and then presses them into a huge black bordered glass frame.

Karen gives her many from his competitions, where Harry’s lost amongst a herd of cows, brow furrowed in concentration.

She doesn’t want to admit it, but her favourite is one Karen gives her. She’s riding Indigo, and Harry’s on Fiji. Indigo looks small next to the chestnut gelding, but their knees are knocking anyway. Harry’s mouth is open in laughter, and Allie has a hand on his shoulder, pushing at him. She looks like she’s trying to look annoyed, but missing the mark. The sun is soft behind them, low in the sky and ducking below the trees in the distance.

She tucks the photo in the top left of the frame and doesn’t cut it up. She thinks briefly that she hasn’t seen Harry laughing like that, not in a while.

He does smile when she gives it to him, Allie feeling a little foolish as he unwraps it. It is distinctly underwhelming, compared to the horse box. Allie has heard her mom muttering that the box must have cost hundreds of thousands.

His grin is crooked as he takes in the frame, and his eyes are soft as he considers her.

“God, Pressman, you couldn’t even keep your ugly damn horse out of my birthday present.”

Allie’s put a picture of Jigsaw right in the middle, a full-on head shot where the black and white horse is staring defiantly straight down the lens.

“He ruins it,” Harry pouts, but he’s put one arm around her shoulder and pulled her into a half hug. It’s awkward, and Allie thinks it’s the first time Harry’s ever touched her outside of her shoving him off fence railings. It’s the sort of hug he would give an aged aunt, careful and distant.

She tries not to dissect it too much, and fails. He drops his arm from around her but keeps his shoulder there, pressed arm to arm, and that’s how Karen finds them fifteen minutes later, the frame on their knees as they point to each photo and reminisce, a glass of raspberry cordial in their hand.

Karen’s smile is knowing when Allie looks up and catches her.

Harry doesn’t look at her in school the next day, even when she wishes him happy belated birthday in the corridor. He just marches straight past.

“Asshole,” Becca rolls her eyes, grabbing Allie’s arm. “We’re way too cool for him, anyway.”

Allie can’t help but feel that it’s the other way around.

*

Once Jigsaw is haltered, things move slowly, but steadily. Karen watches her, from the corner of her eye, and provides advice occasionally.

“I reckon he’s been backed to ride,” Karen muses, as she watches the pair. Allie has him on a long line and the gelding circles her, warily. He pretty much ignores every command she gives him, and takes three whole circles to come to a halt when Allie asks him to. “Why don’t we try?”

Karen is her idol, Allie thinks sometimes, and she is calm but efficient as she holds Jigsaw’s halter and Allie smooths a saddle pad over Jigsaw’s back, hesitant. Allie thinks she’s holding her breath as she lifts the saddle, the leather warm under her palms.

Jigsaw has one ear cocked on her; his blue eye narrowed.

Allie places the saddle down and he doesn’t flinch, even when she gently tightens the girths. Allie steps back, proud. Karen scratches his neck, but he crocodile snaps at her, stamping a hind leg.

Allie works with him in the round pen, ascertaining whether he’s used to the saddle. He doesn’t protest more than normal, still bucks and twists, but Allie doesn’t think it’s at the saddle.

She tries him with the bridle a week later, the reins looped around his neck. The bit clanks against his teeth and tension fills every line of his body, but Karen watches, nodding in satisfaction.

The next step is to try to ride him, and Harry keeps trying to catch her doing it.

“Are you going to sell tickets to your rodeo, Pressman?” he taunts.

She keeps working with the gelding, or she thinks she is – she’s not entirely sure what she’s doing. She’s leading Jigsaw around the arena, feeling slightly lost compared to the confines of the round pen.

Allie wants the horse to relax, for the tension to leave his body. But it never does, and she is stuck leading him in circles, afraid to take the next step.

“You’re going to have to get on him at some point, Allie,” his voice is gentler now, and it makes her look up, gaze leaving Jigsaw.

Jigsaw sinks his teeth into her upper thigh and spins, wrenching the reins from her hands. Allie clamps a hand over her leg, gritting her teeth and trying not to cry out.

There is a pause of heavy silence before Harry laughs from the fence.

*

Cassie’s health dips, and she spends more time in hospital or attending appointments. At weekends, Allie’s dad drops her at the barn and she spends all day there.

She wiles away most of it sitting on the railings watching Jigsaw in the paddock. He’s either charging at the fence and snapping his teeth at any horse that dares come near his territory, or resolutely ignoring Allie’s presence.

He’s kept in a paddock on his own, because Fiji came in hobbling one day, a kick mark on his quarter. Harry hadn’t looked at Allie for a week after that, as if it was her fault.

“You can’t annoy someone into liking you,” Harry passes by, leading both Fiji and his new red mare, who he’s called Ginny.

“Tell yourself that,” Allie knows it’s weak, but she’s tired and anxious and sick of worrying whether Cassie will remain in hospital for the rest of her life, or never come back at all.

*

She brings Sam and Becca to the barn, and they join her sitting on the railings. Allie walks across the paddock and Jigsaw lets her slip the halter onto his pink nose without charging away, which feels a lot like a victory.

Allie isn’t quite sure what happens next, but suddenly there’s a squeal and Jigsaw is slamming into her, sideways, knocking her to the ground. Her hands curl over her head protectively, but his hoof collides with her jaw and her head snaps back.

She’s winded, as well, which is why she lies motionless for a while. She can hear footsteps and Becca and Sam are there, and then Harry as well – she hadn’t even realised he was around.

“Allie! Are you okay?” her head and hip hurt from where she hit the ground but she pushes herself up to her elbows. Harry moves back, his hand touching her shoulder.

Sam signs “ _you’re bleeding_ ,” and she touches a hand to her chin and lip. When she licks her lower lip she tastes blood.

“That fucking horse is going to kill you,” Harry’s words are low and angry, and he’s on his knees next to her, fury twisting his face. If she looks at his eyes for long enough she can mistake it for worry.

Instead she pushes past him and to her feet. Jigsaw is circling the paddock, rope hanging from his halter and tangling in his front legs.

“You should stop this. Now.” It sounds like a command, but Allie walks across the paddock (not too quickly, not too slowly, and certainly not with her eyes on Jigsaw) until she reaches the gelding. He lets her press a hand to his cheek and slowly reach for his rope.

“God, why are you such an asshole?” she snaps. “Not all of us can get daddy to buy us a new horse every time something goes wrong, Bingham.” He’s still kneeling on the ground and glaring at her with fury she’s never been on the receiving end of. Wordlessly he clambers to his feet and storms from the paddock, vaulting the fence as he goes.

Sam and Becca are watching her as she leads Jigsaw to them.

“I never knew Harry Bingham rode,” Becca muses, and Allie looks at her. “I knew he lived on a farm but – I didn’t know he was a weird horse person, too.”

Sometimes Allie thinks his riding feels like some sort of affair; a dirty secret.

“ _I’ve never seen anyone run and jump a fence so fast,_ ” Sam adds.

Allie spits blood onto the floor. She thinks the action makes her look pretty badass. She wonders why she feels so hollow.

Harry Bingham doesn’t speak to her for a month.

*

Karen helps Allie in snatches with Jigsaw, when she has a spare five minutes between lessons, clinics and barn chores. She holds his bridle and boosts Allie so she’s lying in the saddle, testing her weight on Jigsaw’s back. Karen’s hand is firm on her knee, ready to pull her off should anything go wrong.

After a few weeks Karen says “I think you should sit up now.”

Allie has been getting Jigsaw used to having her standing on the steps next to him, keeping the other rein tight so he couldn’t swing his head and bite her. The gelding never relaxes, is all coiled energy. He flies across his stall to try and bite humans and horses alike when they pass him. Karen’s put him at the back of the barn to minimise interactions and lower his stress, but it’s darker there, and unnerving when he lunges out of the gloom.

Everyday Allie has to work up the courage to handle him.

Karen gives her a boost, and holds Jigsaw’s bridle tightly. Allie lies low and flat against his neck, her heart thrumming.

She inches herself upright painfully slowly, uncurling like a fruit wind up.

When she finally realises she’s sitting upright – on Jigsaw – and he’s not done anything bar grind his teeth in displeasure, she grins with elation.

The next day, Karen leads him round the arena. Allie’s muscles tremble with the effort of keeping still.

Allie seeks Harry out where he’s cleaning out a stall, forking soiled straw into a wheelbarrow.

“I rode Jigsaw today,” she grins.

He doesn’t look at her, and his tone is flat. “Congratulations.”

*

Cassie comes and sits on the fence and watches as Allie guides Jigsaw around the arena in a slow jog. It’s awkward, and Jigsaw holds his head high, ears in her face. His strides are short and jolting, and he lifts his knees unnecessarily high. Allie clings to the saddle, as if sheer willpower can keep her on board.

Allie definitely thinks he’s been trained in the past; he neck reins and halts and responds to all the usual commands. It doesn’t make his behaviour any easier to handle, but she gets used to it, somewhat.

Cassie remains unconvinced.

*

“I’m going on a trail ride!” she yells into the barn.

“Wear your helmet!” Karen yells back. Harry is in the school on his iron grey mare Breeze. He has four horses now; Indigo for reining, Breeze for barrel racing, Fiji for cutting, and Ginny for things yet unspecified. The barn staff take it in turns to help him exercise them, and Allie doesn’t see him around the barn as much.

Jigsaw circles the steps, refusing to let her mount, but she hops determinedly after him, one foot in the stirrup.

She hasn’t been on the trails since Jasmine, and it feels a lot like coming home. Things have changed – some areas are more overgrown, or trees have fallen – but she still recognises her way around. Jigsaw seems to appreciate the change of scenery, but he is still tense, ears pinned, nostrils flared.

Allie wishes, not for the first time, that he was Jasper.

Instead she finds her bravery and presses her calves into his sides, urging him into a steady trot.

They are mostly home when Jigsaw flinches at some movement in the trees. Allie flinches as well, and her legs accidentally press into Jigsaw’s sides, her hands tight on the reins. The paint snakes his head, once, and she gasps “Jigsaw – no,” as he drops his shoulder and spins, kicking his heels.

She tumbles to the ground, unharmed, but to add insult to injury Jigsaw takes off bucking, his reins hitting his knees as he gallops. Allie lies on the forest floor staring up at the sky and cries bitter, frustrated tears. Once she’s done, she wipes her face and pulls herself to her feet, setting off on the twenty-minute walk back to the barn.

She hears hoofbeats, not long later, and there is a flash of dark grey between the trees. Harry eases Breeze to a steady lope, then drops into a trot as he spots her. There is something that looks a lot like relief on his face as he draws to a halt in front of her. Breeze’s sides are heaving.

“Your stupid horse is back at the barn,” he says, and cuts her off with “he’s okay – mom’s sorting him.”

Breeze’s heavy breathing fills the air between them.

“You’re too good for him – too nice to him.” Allie squints at him and shrugs. “He doesn’t deserve it.”

There are leaves in Allie’s hair and mud on her shirt and she has come too far to be defeated by Harry Bingham. “Everyone deserves a second chance, Harry.”

“Not if they’re just a complete asshole for no reason,” he’s muttering, and it feels a lot like they’re having a conversation within a conversation but she can’t work out the second meaning.

Harry offers to pull her up onto Breeze in front of him, and for a second Allie imagines his arms around her waist to keep her steady. It’s almost enough to make her flush.

She declines, and they walk back to the barn in silence.

When they get back Karen makes Allie get straight back onto Jigsaw, so she doesn’t lose her nerve. It’s enough to almost make Allie hate her, just for one sharp moment.

*

Summer comes, bringing with in the show season. Allie doesn’t enter any, mainly because she doesn’t trust Jigsaw, but also because she’s heard her parents arguing about Cassie’s medical bills.

Harry and Karen load up the box almost every weekend, travelling all over the country. Harry wins his first state cutting championship in the junior division with Fiji in Ohio.

Allie helps the barn staff to exercise whichever horses he leaves behind. She won’t admit it, but it’s almost a respite from the relentlessness that is Jigsaw. She has heard the mutterings about what people think about her gelding.

There is a new boarder, Zara, who brings a pretty grey mare called Kizzy to the stables. Zara is new, and goes to school in a neighbouring town. Her parent’s have heard about Karen’s reputation as a coach, and Harry’s success in the western world. Allie decides she likes Zara. She’s blonde and pretty, but she trains with determination and always passes Allie sugar cubes to feed Jigsaw.

Harry arrives back from the cutting US championship late one Sunday, as Allie helps the barn staff do the evening checks. Fiji’s hooves clatter down the ramp and onto the yard. Karen had rung ahead to sum up his performance. He’d come third, but he’d been approached by a senior coach to ask whether he would consider joining the official US training squad.

(Allie had gone straight into town and got him a small trophy with a horse on top, engraved with ‘congratulations on not falling off’.)

Karen is carrying a sleeping Olivia from the living quarters of the box when Zara flies out the barn, across the yard, and straight into Harry’s arms. Harry is braced for impact, and smiles at the girl.

They kiss. “Congratulations!” Zara squeals, loud and bright.

Karen looks at Allie across the yard. Allie pushes a smile onto her face and wonders why it feels fake.

(She hides the trophy in a box of Jigsaw’s things, where he’ll never go.)

*

Cassie’s health takes another decline, and Allie finds herself in the living area of the box with Harry and Olivia as they drive across the state. Harry is all nervous energy, flickering between watching TV and winding Allie and Olivia up. She thinks it’s something to do with the fact his dad has joined them, which he never does.

Olivia is three now, and an absolute menace. Allie adores her.

Harry chatters nervously for the entire drive, even when they unload the horses so they can stretch their legs. Allie catches Karen’s gaze and rolls her eyes.

It’s one of the biggest competitions Allie has ever been to. The showground stretches for miles. It’s a proper, full rodeo, and Allie has never seen so many leather chaps and Stetson’s in all of her life. Harry never tends to go for the western fashion. He prefers (expensive) jeans and t-shirts, and caps, rather than plaid shirts and fringe lined leather. Cassie sold all of her show things years ago, so Allie hasn’t even been able to pack them as a disguise.

Harry is entered into the junior barrel racing competition. Allie helps him saddle Breeze before each competition, or exercise her in the mornings if they’re not due in the ring until later on. She takes the mare for short walks through the grounds, as Harry cleans out her stall.

At night they sleep above the cab on the double mattress, in sleeping bags. The first night Allie lies down with her head at Harry’s feet, top and tailing, but apparently she kicks him in the face in her sleep and from then on he insists they face the same way.

“Your foot was in my _mouth_ ,” he argues, and she points out that it was in a sleeping bag, but he wins. Harry always wins.

There is enough room for two – plenty of space, but she is hyper aware of another presence next to her – one that’s Harry, and although she knows him, she still feels unnerved.

In the middle of the third night she wakes up with his breath on her face. He looks beautiful, for a moment, in the soft morning light. His eyelashes brush his cheeks, and his hair is all rumpled. His hands are curled into the material of the sleeping bag, and he’s pulled it so it tucks under his chin.

Allie smiles at him and goes back to sleep.

*

Harry makes it all the way to the final, and then he loses his balance around the third barrel and his knee knocks it, hard. The barrel shakes, then tips and falls, and it spooks Breeze, who flattens her neck and swerves away. Harry, usually so graceful, unbalances and falls from the saddle. He doesn’t move for a long second.

Allie does, clambering over the railings and bolting towards him. He’s getting to his feet by the time she gets there, pushing past her, and snatching Breeze’s reins from one of the ring officials. Harry pauses by the gate, and looks into the crowd.

There is a gap where his dad had been standing. Karen is by the gate, and she looks at Allie, hard, before nodding and turning around, pulling Olivia with her.

Allie follows Harry and Breeze back to the stables. He’s taken off his Stetson on the walk over, and thrown it to the ground. (He hates them, but leather chaps and shirts and Stetsons are an unfortunate requirement for western events). She stands nervously in the door of the stable and watches Harry as he begins untacking the mare with short, jerky movements. When he gets the saddle off he dumps it onto the ground, then draws his foot back and kicks an empty bucket across the stall with a loud shout.

His foot gets caught in the handle, which takes the wind out of his sails and he suddenly crumples in on himself, his hands tugging at his hair. Allie thinks he’s crying. He’s shaking, anyway, all repressed rage and anger.

Allie begins unbuckling Breeze’s bridle. Harry watches her.

“I’m sorry,” her voice is low and quiet and she says it more to Breeze than to him, because they’ve never really done emotions.

“The one fucking time – the one time he actually comes,” Harry’s breathing heavily and Allie tries to fight back the urge to cry at his tone, at the anger and the fury and the deep, overwhelming sadness. “And I go and fuck it all up.”

She is not good with emotions but she tries anyway. “Everyone falls off at some point, Harry – accidents happen.”

“They shouldn’t when you pay $200,000 for a horse,” the words don’t sound like his own, and she knows that they’ve been thrown at him at some point.

“No matter how expensive the horse is, they still have a mind of their own.”

“Maybe if I trained more – maybe if I got a different coach because mom goes too easy – maybe if I swapped Breeze. Maybe if you didn’t distract me all the goddamn time, and your stupid horse stopped upsetting everyone else in the barn,” he is fighting for solutions and it makes Allie want to shout back at him, but she doesn’t. Just lets him throw words at her.

It takes her by surprise when he pushes her against the thick plastic side of the temporary stabling and kisses her. It’s rough, and slightly damp from his tears, and he’s still breathing heavily, chest heaving.

She doesn’t kiss him back.

He stops when it becomes obvious, and pulls away. They stare at each other for one long moment. He looks apprehensive and angry and hurt. She keeps her gaze steady on his face.

Harry leaves the stall, yanking the door open and closed.

He’s still entered for the cutting competition, but he explains in a detached way that he doesn’t want to compete, that’s he’s hurt his back falling off.

“Harry,” his mom protests, one eye on Olivia and one on her son, “you can’t just give up now-”

“Let the boy quit,” his dad says, and his tone is authoritative.

Karen looks away, her jaw tight.

Harry doesn’t talk to Allie the entire way home.

When they get back and everyone else is busy unloading all the equipment from the box, Allie retrieves the engraved trophy from the box of Jigsaw’s things. She leaves it balanced on top of Indigo’s saddle, knowing he’ll find it.

*

Jigsaw’s saddle is next to Indigo’s in the tack room, which is how she notices the trophy does not move for an entire week.

Then it does move, and she sees it on the ground. Indigo’s saddle is missing and her heart tightens in her chest. She saddles Jigsaw with a little more haste than usual (she still has to tie him short, in the cross ties, to do anything productive with him, which frustrates her) and leads him out to the arenas.

Indigo is a familiar form in the farthest arena, but Allie can instinctively tell it’s not Harry, despite the distance. As she gets nearer she realises it’s Zara, her blonde hair pulled into a neat ponytail. Zara wears fringed leather chaps and a Stetson all year round, completely unironically.

Her eyes light up as she sees Allie, and she pushes Indigo into a canter to join her. Jigsaw’s teeth snap in the air, so Zara wisely reins Indigo away.

“Hey, Allie!” they have had a limited number of interactions around the barn, with Zara’s attention focussed mainly on her own training or Harry Bingham. “Have you seen Harry recently, since you got back? I’ve text him, but.”

Allie feels a little guilty then, because she determines Zara and Harry are apparently still dating, or a thing, or whatever they are. And the last time she’d been with Harry he’d been crowding her against a stable wall, his lips on hers. She hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t responded in kind, but she still feels culpable and it weighs heavy in her ribs.

“No, sorry,” Allie inches Jigsaw a little further away from Indigo, because Indigo is secretly one of her favourites and she thinks Harry would take a while to forgive her if Jigsaw kicked her.

“Oh,” her face clouds a little, but she also looks a little relieved. “I know you two are close, so thought maybe you had.”

Allie hums in her throat and tries not to laugh, because Harry Bingham and her could never be classified as close. Close would require an acknowledgement outside of the farm boundaries and he has yet to give her that.

“I know his dad is pretty hard on him,” Zara’s voice is lower, hushed, as if discussing some forbidden topic. “And I heard he fell. I hope he’s okay.”

Allie is already reining Jigsaw away, her calves light on his sides. “Oh, he’ll get over it. He always does.”

*

It’s ten days since they got back from the most recent competition, and Allie still hasn’t seen Harry at the barn.

Karen finds her whilst she’s cleaning Fiji’s stall out. Harry usually does it, because Karen won’t let him get away with doing no yard chores. He’s particularly anal about the gelding having a deep bed, because one time he rolled and scraped his hock. The scrape barely broke the skin, but Harry had pulled Allie over to have a look and fret about it anyway.

She’s testing the depth of the bed by dropping a fork from a height, to see whether the prongs hit concrete and more straw is required, whilst thinking that she really needs to pee.

“He won’t get out of bed,” Karen has dark shadows under her eyes and Allie can’t help but think (guiltily) that she looks old.

Karen doesn’t have to say anymore, because Allie’s already dropping the fork and her feet are moving almost of their own accord.

“Uh, can you saddle Jigsaw and Indigo?” Allie is unused to giving orders – especially not to Karen. But Karen is looking intently at her face and nods once.

Allie marches up to the house, boots stamping on the driveway. She yanks her boots off at the doorway (the door is always, always unlocked) and straight up to Harry’s room. She’s never been in his room, just seen cracks of it through a half open door when she stayed years ago whilst Cassie was at worlds.

“Fuck off, mom,” his voice is low as she slams the door open. It almost ricochets off the wall, but she slams it back again, liking the noise.

“Get the fuck up, Bingham,” she snaps, and she sees his head move towards her quickly.

She’s already grabbing the duvet from the base of the bed, and yanking, hard. His hands scrabble fruitlessly for a second and he sits up, following the loss.

He’s wearing sweatpants and nothing else, but she doesn’t let that throw her. The room is dark, the blind down and curtains drawn. There’s a jumble of plates everywhere, food on some of them, half eaten. The room smells of boy, but not nicely, more like the immediate smell when you peel open the plastic on a cheap packet of ham.

Harry Bingham looks extremely small, sitting in the middle of a bed with dark sheets. He has faint stubble on his cheeks and jaw, which would usually impress her because she didn’t realise he could actually grow facial hair.

Instead she’s glowering, and he’s looking anywhere but at her.

“Fuck off, Pressman,” there’s no heat behind the words, and instead he just sounds tired and sad.

“No,” she says, and she’s unsure where the anger comes from, but it hums in her veins and spills out of her mouth. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to sit and mope because you fell off. Shit happens – and you’re not allowed to be so fucking spoiled to hide away now.”

He looks at her then, sharp and cool.

She’s already moving around the room, pulling a pair of jeans and socks and a shirt from the mess on the floor. They all land on the sheets beside him, and then Allie sits on the end of his bed, back to him, her arms crossed. The collage she made him for his birthday hangs on his wall.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m not leaving until you get up and come on a trail ride.”

Allie can almost hear him considering. But she’s been sitting on the railings of paddocks and in other people’s shadows for years and Harry Bingham is not about to out wait her.

“I fucking hate you, Pressman,” his voice is low, but he’s getting up and going to the bathroom, the bundle of clothes in one hand.

“I’ll see you at the barn,” she calls through the door.

She mounts Jigsaw, and Karen holds Indigo’s bridle and looks grim.

“He’ll come,” Allie says with quiet conviction, but Karen does not look convinced.

Harry keeps them waiting for twenty-five minutes before strolling down the barn, his face blank. He takes Indigo’s reins silently and vaults on from the ground. The black mare shifts, slightly uneasy at his dark mood.

Allie follows him without a word, keeping a careful distance so Jigsaw can’t launch an offensive.

They’re thirty minutes into the ride when the urge to pee becomes overwhelming. She’s been shifting uneasily in the saddle for ten minutes, which keeps throwing Jigsaw off. He’s swerving all over the pathway, one ear focussed on Allie.

“Bingham,” Harry is in front, and doesn’t react at all. “Harry! Hold up. I really need to pee.”

He does draw Indigo to a stop, but he doesn’t look around.

“Can you hold Jigsaw?” He still doesn’t look at her and she intensely dislikes him for a long moment, but she’s already sliding off Jigsaw and pulling the gelding behind her, muttering under her breath about ungrateful assholes.

She is no stranger to peeing on the trails – she’s been out here for entire days before now.

Harry being there makes her a little self-conscious, but he has half a girlfriend anyway, so it doesn’t matter.

She takes care to find a sheltered place, the trees hiding Harry from view. She also places Jigsaw between them as a screen, and pulls her pants down, squatting.

It’s undignified, and she’d rather she didn’t have to, but it’s fine, and she’s just about to get up when Jigsaw lowers his head, his blue eye focussed on her. She flinches without meaning to, then tries to stand up, but her pants are around her knees and Jigsaw’s face is very close, his muzzle pressing into her shoulder, and she overbalances, falling backwards.

She thinks she screams, a little, because it hurts – she’s landed in a patch of nettles and there is way too much of her skin exposed to take that lightly. She’s saying, “ow, ow, ow, fuck, ow,” and rolling around, away from the nettles, when she hears Harry crashing through the undergrowth.

“Allie?” he sounds concerned, anxious, even. She pulls her jeans up as far as she can get them, but they’re still unbuttoned when he catches sight of her, on the ground, face twisted. “Are you okay?”

Her cheeks flame with embarrassment, and she scrambles to her feet. Jigsaw snaps at her and she pushes his face away, as she always does.

“He pushed me over,” her voice is sulky and petulant, and there are leaves on her hair. She is twisting around, pulling her shirt up to examine the skin on her back. “I landed in some nettles.”

His laughter is loud and abrupt, and his face lights up for a moment. He’s always loved slapstick humour, when she falls off or gets bitten or shoved or anything. Then he’s looping Indigo’s reins over a low branch and crossing the space between them (sidestepping Jigsaw as he tries to bite him, offended at his audacity). He’s holding her shirt up with one hand, and the other is skimming over the raised bumps of the nettle stings, across her lower back and on her side.

Allie tries extremely hard not to think about how he’s probably standing in, or at least extremely close, to her pee.

“You’ll live,” he determines, and he drops her shirt, pulling it back down to cover her back.

It does not cure things with him, between them, but he unthaws slightly, and the silence as they ride back is more companionable than awkward.

Zara sees them as they come back towards the barn, and she looks relieved.

*

Harry quits for a while, over the winter, when things are cold and ice has to be smashed on the water troughs. He still does his barn chores, and guides Snowy around the arena when Olivia shouts that she wants to ride ‘Nowy.

There is a wordless agreement, and Allie starts exercising Fiji because she’s the only one Harry has ever really trusted with him. She is still struggling with Jigsaw. Objectively, he’s improved. He has filled out with muscle, and she can take him on the trails by herself without fearing for her own safety. She’s started building in reining moves into his training, and he picks them up quickly. He can spin with the barest touch on the reins or with her legs, and changes leads when he feels like it.

But he is still filled with tension, and still flies across the stable to try and attack anyone who walks past. He doesn’t do it so much with Allie, but he’s moved into ignoring her unless he really has to. She’s a little scared to approach him everyday, but doesn’t admit it.

Allie keeps riding Fiji, because the chestnut is fun and easy and doesn’t feel like he loathes her entire existence. She’s leading the chestnut back into the barn after a ride when Karen says, “maybe we should think about entering you into a competition.”

Allie can see Harry’s hand tightening on the broom he holds.

“I’d like that.”

Allie is not entirely sure where from, but there are suddenly four cows in the round pen. Half of the horses freak out, and half are intrigued, or recognise them.

Jigsaw stands stock still when he sees them and has to be persuaded past. Allie leads him right up to them, for desensitising, but the gelding sighs heavily and looks over the cows in disinterest.

Later on, she’s in the round pen with the cows, on Fiji.

The gelding is always calm and considered, almost placid, but he suddenly has an edge to him. His eyes track the cows and he feels like a coiled spring, ready to bounce into action.

Karen is coaching her from the railings, saying “good, good, let him track them, not you. Just ride through them a few times, get used to it.” She does so, and it’s weird, as a cow knocks into her lower leg and Fiji arches his neck. Karen has been teaching her basic cutting moves for a few weeks now, but it’s not as easy when it’s actual cows. They dart around the pen, scattering like marbles on a wooden floor, lowing to each other.

Allie manages one successful cut, picking off an outlier and driving Fiji between the cow and the rest of the herd. The gelding shifts, sinking onto his hocks, his eyes focussed purely on the cow in front. He shifts from left to right, spinning and darting to keep the cow separate. It is mostly Fiji’s doing, and Allie misreads the cow’s body language, spinning Fiji the opposite way – the cow snorts in victory, racing back to the herd.

Allie looks to Karen, who has been silent for a few moments. Harry is sat on the fence next to her, and when she halts Fiji, he jumps down and walks over.

“You have to drop your reins here,” he’s reaching up and pushing her hands lower, towards Fiji’s withers. “And you have to be a lot more discrete with your leg – put them here,” he’s pushing her legs, hand on her knee and her heel, and Allie tries not to flush at the contact.

He goes back to sit on the fence and Allie tries again. Karen and Harry both shout out comments, which should be annoying and conflicting, but she finds herself grinning at Fiji’s neck.

*

Later on when it’s quiet and still and the barn staff have gone home, Allie takes Jigsaw into the round pen with the cows.

Her heart thuds in her ribcage, and she keeps a tight grip on the reins. Initially she keeps him on the opposite side, so he can’t attack them. But he seems unbothered, so she inches closer. Even when the cows lose their nerve and run, he doesn’t flinch.

“He’s seen cows before,” Harry surmises from the fence. “Probably because they look the same as him.”

Allie glares at him, but doesn’t let it detract from her satisfaction as she weaves Jigsaw amongst the cows.

*

Come February, Harry hasn’t ridden for sixteen weeks.

Allie’s birthday falls a few days after Valentines Day, and Allie finds a bag full of marked down chocolate hanging from Jigsaw’s saddle. She always goes on a trail ride for her birthday, and mutters to her gelding as she saddles him up. She’s had him over a year now, and thinks she mostly loves rather than hates him.

Harry is waiting outside the barn, astride Fiji.

“Thought I’d steal my horse back, Pressman,” he says.

Jigsaw only tries to kick Fiji twice, which is pretty much a birthday miracle.

*

Harry turns sixteen at the end of April. He’s back on track and training for the season as though he’d never stopped. Allie relinquishes the ride on Fiji with minor ill feeling, instead starting to put into practice what Karen had been teaching her with Jigsaw. It does not quite replicate the feeling of Fiji, with his lightness and willingness, but it feels more natural than the reining moves she’s been drilling into him.

For his birthday, Harry has a massive party at home. Allie cannot explain why, but it feels momentous. Harry has always kept school and home life so distinctly separate.

(She half waits for an invitation, but it never comes).

She’s at the barn on the Saturday it’s held, so can hear the ruckus that descends. Suddenly there is a mob of teenagers, filling the barn. Harry is at the front.

“Pressman!” his voice is loud and commanding, and Allie hooks her arms over Jigsaw’s stall door, looking out at him. The gelding is tied short but it doesn’t stop him kicking out at the stall wall with a menacing thud. Harry draws closer, and Allie can smell something sharp and alcoholic on his breath when he exhales. “I lost a bet,” he rolls his eyes at his own stupidity. “And now they want to see me ride. Fancy a race?”

It’s a stupid idea – dangerous, even. Allie looks at the group over his shoulder, and then looks at him. His eyes are imploring. “Please?” it’s under his breath, more an exhalation than anything.

She closes her eyes, but nods.

He chooses Breeze, which is unfair, because she has ridiculously long legs and is part thoroughbred.

They circle each other in the arena at a jog, warming the horses up. Teenagers crowd the fence, laughing and chatting. It’s the biggest audience Allie has ever had whilst she’s been riding and it makes her stomach tighten with nerves. Jigsaw reacts to it, his head high, legs crossing. Harry looks as though he’s just out for a Sunday jaunt.

They choose a starting point, between two barrels. At the far end of the arena, Clark has put two more to indicate the finish line.

Allie hears someone say “I can’t see how she’s going to win on that,” and someone respond “oh, I think she may be a dark horse. Harry says she’s really good.”

Jigsaw and Breeze line up on the line. Both are shifting, and Breeze has one ear fixated on Jigsaw. She’s always been scared of him, since he’d gotten his teeth into her neck one time.

It gives Allie an idea, and she innocently moves Jigsaw towards Breeze, as Jason starts counting them down. Breeze shifts away, anxiously, and Harry cuts Allie a sharp look.

Jigsaw is out of range, but snaps his teeth at Breeze anyway, lifting a hind leg for good measure, and Breeze swerves to the side, half spinning on her haunches, just as Jason shouts “GO!”

Allie doesn’t need to be told twice, and Jigsaw launches from the start line, spooked by Allie’s sudden leg and encouragement but going anyway. He stretches his head and neck down and he practically flies across the arena – every muscle straining. There is a thundering of hooves as Breeze follows them, gaining with every stride – but it is not enough, in the end, to make up for their late start.

Harry accuses her of foul play, but he looks a little impressed.

Kelly asks Harry whether he can teach her to ride, one hand laid gently on his knee and another on Breeze’s neck.

Jason asks her Allie’s number, and says “what, she looked hot out there,” defensively to his friends when he rejoins them, Allie’s number in his phone.

Harry hands Breeze to his mom to wash down, and heads back to his party.

He still doesn’t acknowledge her at school.


	3. three.

Harry falls head first into the show season, with a grim determination Allie hasn’t seen before.

Allie is always half a step behind everyone else, but she feels a little left out, even though she’s never been in the same orbit as those who compete. Harry travels all over the country in his obnoxious box, and there’s not much of Karen’s time left over to coach Allie. Instead Allie bonds with Zara and goes on trail rides with her. They sit on the fence and critique each other’s form.

Zara discloses that her and Harry had broken up weeks earlier – but Allie hadn’t even realised they were still properly together.

“I just realised he’s an asshole,” Zara sighs.

Allie laughs, because he most definitely is.

Harry watches them together, on one of the rare days he’s actually at the barn.

“Why are you always annoying people into being friends with you,” he snipes as Allie walks past. She rolls her eyes at him.

It’s mid-summer when Karen says in passing, “you should bring Jigsaw to the next competition.” Allie looks at her in shock, and she clarifies “it’s a small one, and we won’t enter you in anything. It’ll be good experience, on a showground.”

Allie’s hit a mental block with his training, and she’s pretty sure he still wants to maim or kill her eighty per cent of the time. But it would be invaluable experience, and a chance to get him into a different setting.

She asks her parents, and they argue with her about the cost.

“We can’t keep taking handouts from the Bingham’s,” her mother’s face flushes. “We’re not a charity. God, they really are something.” It’s said with a bitter laugh.

Allie’s dad ushers her from kitchen. “Don’t worry,” he whispers as he shuts the door, “I’ll sort something.”

He must do, because two weeks later Allie is sitting in the living quarters of Harry’s box, trucking across the state. Jigsaw had only taken half an hour to load onto the box, which Allie was secretly pleased about. Harry and Allie play cards at the table, or draw pictures for Olivia to colour in, or play car games such as I spy or would you rather.

Harry’s favourite game is one called _don’t get me started_. Players pick a topic of choice and there’s a timed segment when you have to rant about the topic. Harry is very passionate about canned versus frozen and bagged sweetcorn.

“You cannot beat the sweetness of canned – don’t fucking laugh at me, Pressman. You try frozen on pizza – it’s a travesty.”

They read a lot of books; Allie sprawled out on the mattress above the cab. Harry sits with Olivia, alternating between reading aloud to her, or keeping an eye on his novel and one on his sister as she plays.

Sometimes she wishes she had a brother like Harry Bingham. Or maybe she just wishes for Harry Bingham.

*

They meet the US junior team coach when they arrive, and he shakes Harry’s hand, clapping him on the back.

He’s called Buck, and he is perhaps the most stereotypical cowboy figure Allie has ever met. He has faded jeans, bowed legs, and his Stetson is either hanging around his neck, or on his head. He rolls a toothpick between his teeth as he speaks, and he has a drawling Texan accent.

Harry cuts her a warning look, as if he can predict that she finds Buck extremely amusing.

Harry wears chinos, button down shirts, deck shoes and sunglasses. He helps unload all the equipment from the box whilst complaining heavily about it, glaring at Jigsaw from behind his glasses as the gelding raises a threatening hoof at Fiji.

“Don’t you fucking dare, you little shit,” he shoves at Jigsaw’s hind quarters with the box he’s carrying.

Allie mists the air in Jigsaw’s stall with diluted lavender oil in a spray bottle, because she read somewhere that it was supposed to be soothing. The paint does not seem soothed, instead glaring at her with reproach. She’s also not entirely sure it works, because Jigsaw still lunges across the stall as people and horses pass, teeth clanging against the metal grill. Allie is pretty sure the Bingham’s had to pay extra for the metal bars on the stable, but is relieved she won’t have to deal with any potential law suits. It also makes her feel a little bad, because her horse is essentially such an asshole he has to be in horse jail.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Harry catches her misting the stall as he carries Fiji’s saddle on his hip, the bridle slung over one shoulder. He’s changed into boots and a plaid shirt.

Allie is caught off guard, but refuses to be embarrassed. “It’s lavender oil,” she says primly, squirting some directly into his face. “It’s soothing.”

Harry ducks out the way, throwing the saddle over Fiji’s stall door. “It smells like grandmas.” He unlatches the door and ducks inside, clucking his tongue in welcome to Fiji. The gelding shifts towards him. “That shit never works, anyway.”

Allie ignores him, continuing to mist Jigsaw’s stall. She can’t help but think he’s maybe right, because Jigsaw is still glaring from behind the bars.

*

Buck calls Harry and the rest of the team for a training session, once the horses have rested. Karen drags over camping chairs and her, Olivia and Allie sit outside with the rest of the family members, watching. Karen’s brought a vacuum flask and three glasses, and they all drink raspberry cordial.

The Texan is blunt, firm, and overly critical of his students. He tells Harry at one point “you may be sitting on the most Goddamn expensive horse in this arena, but that does not make you the best cowboy in here, not by a long stretch.” Buck pauses, to allow Harry to take it in, then says “get a move on, and go and cut a cow.”

Harry spins Fiji across the arena, straight into the herd. His face is hard and blank, eyes flinty.

He chooses a dark brown cow and cuts him from the pack, whistling to Fiji. Then at the designated distance he lays the reins on Fiji’s neck and the gelding swings quickly, side to side, eyes focussed on the cow, to keep them apart from the herd. They dart across the arena, Harry leaning into Fiji’s movements, spinning on his haunches. Harry keeps still in the saddle, trusting his horse. They keep the cow apart from the herd for a lot longer than would be required in competition, until Buck calls out “enough.”

The cow returns to the herd in a clamour. Harry scratches Fiji’s neck, and mutters praise at him. His eyes remain on Buck, who stands in the middle of the ring as if oblivious to the cows and the horses surrounding him.

“Better,” Buck says finally, and something a lot like pride flashes in Harry’s eyes.

*

It doesn’t feel like a competition, sometimes. Not when Buck asks her to help be a herdsman during training, and funnel the cows for the rider trying to practice. He’s trying to rotate the horses, saving them for competition.

Everyone’s been warned about Jigsaw, and only Harry dares come close. Jigsaw is on edge away from home in unfamiliar territory. He’s a lot slower to launch across the stall, and sometimes doesn’t even bother. Karen muses that it’s because he’s away from home and therefore has no reason to be territorial.

Whatever the reason, Allie likes the slightly less murderous version.

Harry is different in practice, focussing entirely on Buck and what he has to say. Even when Buck is instructing a different team member Allie catches Harry listening, applying things the coach is saying to his own riding.

Allie’s role is to help control the rest of the herd, so they don’t run around the ring. It mostly involves sitting quietly, a physical blockade. Jigsaw flicks his ears, rests one leg and naps in the sun.

The rest of the team are having a debrief when a cow breaks free from the rest. Jigsaw jerks from his sleep and moves, entirely instinctively, blocking the cow with his body, shifting across the ring and pushing the cow back to the herd. When they’re one pack again the gelding snorts, satisfied.

Allie looks across to Harry in shock. Jigsaw had never shown any inclination towards anything before.

“I think you’ve got somebody with some real cow sense, there,” Buck calls across the ring. “You might wanna think about making use of that and training him up.”

*

There’s a lot of free time, and Harry and Allie spend it wandering around the showground. They find themselves at the rodeo; grown men desperately trying to stay on board a wild, thrashing horse. Allie hates it – the fear in the horse’s eyes as they frantically twist and plunge, completely unused to the riders.

“Pinky promise me you’ll never do a rodeo.” His eyes cut to her, amused.

Allie glowers until he gives in, hooking his pinky around hers.

*

There are a number of competitions throughout the week, culminating with the final on Sunday afternoon. Allie has exercised Jigsaw at length, and settles the gelding back in his stall, ready for Harry’s appearance in the ring.

As she bolts the door, Karen is at her shoulder, frantic.

“Allie – I can’t find Harry – Buck’s going to kill him if he’s not warming up in the next ten minutes-” Olivia is behind her, also frowning because all the adults are.

“You sort Fiji,” Allie is getting more used to this situation. “I’ll find Harry.”

He’s curled up in the horse area of the box, his hands over his head. He’s gasping for breath and his eyes are wild, and Allie panics for a good five seconds when she finds him, standing stock still. The air smells like lavender.

They have never done emotion, but she’s pulling his hands away from his head and he’s looking at her, breath gulping and ragged.

“Hey,” she says, and she wants to stroke his hair and hold him, but doesn’t want to restrict him. Instead she doesn’t wince as he clutches her hands tightly, as she stares right into his eyes and he looks right back at her, pupils’ black tunnels, consuming his iris.

“What if I fuck it up?” his voice is more of a wheeze.

“Oh, I hear there’s a trophy for that.”

His laugh breaks off sharply, and his shoulders are still tense and his ribs are still heaving beneath his pale blue show shirt.

“Can you be herdsman for me?” he asks, and adds, “please.”

There’s silence for a moment. Harry says, “I think having Jigsaw in the ring calms Fiji.”

Allie doesn’t know if she knows how to say no to Harry Bingham, so she agrees. He releases her hands, with a start, and he doesn’t look her in the eye as he retrieves his Stetson from the floor and rams it on his head.

“Your fucking lavender didn’t work,” he sniffs with derision as he stands, his shoulders pushed back. His eyes are red and his voice is gruff. “I told you it was bullshit.”

*

Jigsaw has to be coaxed from his stall, Allie holding an apple in front of his face.

“Come on, Jiggy – you don’t have to do that much, just stand there,” Allie wheedles, pulling at his bridle.

If Buck is surprised to see Allie in the warm up ring, he doesn’t show it. Instead he says, “did Harry ask you?” and looks at her knowingly. Then he says, “don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Just do what you do in practice,” because Allie can feel that all the colour has drained from her face and her knees are knocking into the saddle.

It’s all too quick, because first they’re warming up in slow steady circles, Harry’s eyes locking with hers every time they pass each other. And then they’re in the chute, waiting to go into the arena. Harry’s in front, and Allie situates Jigsaw slightly behind and to his right. Everyone else keeps their distance, but Jigsaw even touches noses with Fiji and doesn’t try to maul him. Someone has pushed a Stetson onto her head, the cord tight around her throat.

Harry’s shoulders are tight, and he’s unnaturally still. Allie reins Jigsaw a step closer, says “Harry,” so he turns and looks at her, desperately. She places a hand on his shoulder blade, fingers splayed over his shirt. It’s what she does to horses when they’re tense, to ground them.

“It’s okay,” she says, and his breath gusts out.

He turns back to face the ring.

The gate opens.

*

On the last night, the whole of the US junior training team and anyone vaguely around the same age are situated around a campfire. The wood crackles and occasionally sparks shoot into the air. The light is flickering, so everyone’s facial features change second by second. The chatter is mostly focussed around all things equine, with everyone comparing notes on competitions or coaches or sponsorship deals. There is familiarity within the hum the of talk, with everyone either knowing each other through all of the competitions, or having acquaintances in common.

Harry fits into the conversations with an ease, soaking up the congratulations for his win. He notices Allie pulling at her hair, swiping it behind her ears in annoyance. It’s not weird to this group that he knows how to braid (everyone’s been brought up braiding manes and tails out of the way; it’s a purely functional exercise), and that he pulls Allie’s hair into a fancy Dutch version. She always struggles to do one on herself due to years of doing it on things in front of her. His fingers against her scalp are soothing, and she makes a small noise in her throat, moving into his touch.

They stay around the fire for hours, and she gets used to the smoke stinging her eyes. It feels a little like a scene out of a film, or a novel, and she wants to have this moment in perpetuity.

Her eyelids grow heavy and she leans against Harry’s shoulder. Some time later she wakes up, and she’s lying on the ground, her head on his thighs, her fingers curled into the soft fabric of his shirt. He’s talking animatedly to someone else across the fire, and even from this angle, when she can see directly up his nostrils, he’s much too pretty.

His hand is on her hip, and she thinks he’s put his jacket over her. He moves his fingertips every so often, running them over the edge of her sweatshirt.

He looks down at her, briefly, and smiles crookedly when he sees she’s awake. “We should go back to the truck. It’s late, and mom will be wondering where we are.”

“Hm,” she closes her eyes and curls her legs up tighter. “Let’s stay a little longer.”

*

Allie wakes up the next morning on the mattress above the cab, and she has her head on Harry’s chest. His arms are around her. She’s drooled a damp patch into his t-shirt.

They squabble as they pack the box and load the horses. Buck hugs them both.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he looks at them both astutely.

The ride home is long, and even though Karen drives the whole way, travelling always exhausts Allie. She naps, or reads, and keeps catching Harry’s eye over the top of her book. He keeps grinning, and every time he does her stomach fizzes with potential.

When she gets home and logs onto her computer (her parents refuse to spend money on smartphones, insisting her Nokia was fine) she’s tagged in a few photographs from the week.

One is of her with her head in Harry’s lap and him smiling crookedly down at her. It’s taken from across the fire, and so they aren’t entirely in focus. The caption is ‘the cutest there ever is!!’.

The second is taken as Harry leaves the arena, his hand raised in victory. He’s surrounded by his team, both mounted and unmounted, Buck’s hand on Fiji’s rein, Karen Bingham beaming at him. He’s twisting over his shoulder, and looking to his right. Jigsaw is half in the bottom of the frame, directly where Harry is staring.

She can’t help but notice that Harry’s untagged himself from both. A few hours later when she goes to look at them again, the photo of her and him around the fire has gone.

*

Allie hears he is officially with Kelly Aldrich two weeks later.

Cassandra tells her, offhand, as she stirs pasta on the stove. “Oh, Kelly and Harry are finally official. As if that’s a surprise.”

Allie is floored. She presses her hands together under the table. Cassie looks over her shoulder – and then she’s turning, frowning.

“I think I’m going through my Harry Bingham crush stage,” Allie admits in a small voice. She thinks of his shirt, soft beneath her fingers. The tense set of his shoulders when she put her hand there, and the look he’d cast her. The grin of elation as he lifted the trophy, laughing as Olivia clung to his leg. Of Harry Bingham, heaving deep, shuddering breaths, eyes wild, clinging to her hands like a drowning man.

Cassie hugs Allie, standing over her, pressing Allie’s cheek to her stomach.

“Oh, honey. Don’t worry, it’ll pass. They always do.”

*

It seems like nothing has changed, but Allie can’t help but think that they have. She had thought after this summer that her and Harry were potentially heading towards something. Instead she feels foolish and young.

She distances herself from him almost surreptitiously at first. Then it’s most definitely conscious, arriving at the barn later so their chores are out of sync and he starts riding first. Whatever he does, she does the opposite of.

It hurts a little that he doesn’t even notice, doesn’t even ask why. She’s probably been looking too much into their past interactions and reading things which clearly weren’t there.

They host Cassie’s seventeenth birthday at home, and her parents pretend not to notice when Allie laces the punch with her father’s whiskey. It seems like Cassie’s invited everyone she’s ever been acquainted with. The sisters had spent the previous day decorating the garden with lanterns and fairy lights, and her parents had hired a mechanical bull for the occasion.

Her dad operates a grill, and drinks are all contained in vast buckets of ice water. Allie, Sam and Becca circle around, socialising with the friendlier of the grade above. That includes a lot of interaction with Kelly, which makes her throat tighten.

“Allie-” her dad is exasperated, as he ushers her mom away from the grill. “Tell your mother to stop messing up my food hygiene system.”

It’s a good party, maybe a little tame by some standards, but everyone is getting to the age where socialising with adults is becoming a more realistic necessity rather than something to be avoided at all costs.

Harry remains the undisputed king of the mechanical bull. His knees grip and he twists and turns as the operator moves the lever, until he’s swirling manically and eventually unseated by an extreme change in direction. Every time he’s thrown he gets up and bows to the crowd. Kelly kisses him on the cheek, laughing at his antics. No one comes close to his record.

Allie’s on her fourth punch. “Hold my beer,” she says, and she pulls off her earrings and her shoes and socks too, for better grip. Her shorts are denim and cut off, and she pulls them up her thighs as she walks over.

“It’s punch!” Becca calls, but her and Sam are following. “Don’t throw up – I bet your mom’s put a deposit down on that thing.”

Allie jumps the inflatable barrier and vaults onto the bull. The surface is rough beneath her knees and on her thighs.

“I’ll go easy,” the operator tells her, and Allie starts moving. There’s a small crowd watching with a vague, disengaged interest. It starts building as the operator increases through the programme, Allie jolting with each movement.

She keeps her hips loose and her knees tight, rolling with the movement, but not too much. Distantly she can hear Becca saying, “she’s got excellent grip – her horse is crazy,” as she whips past.

At the point when she believes she’s definitely beaten Harry Bingham, she relaxes her grip a little. The bull jerks, stuttering, and then swinging the other way. She’s thrown clear, cushioned on the inflatable pen. She can see the top of Harry’s head from where she lies.

“Damn,” someone says in the crowd, close by. “That was pretty hot.”

“Shut the fuck up, man,” Harry snaps back, “she’s fifteen.”

Allie marches back over to Sam and Becca victoriously. They’re both watching her, eyebrows raised. 

_“Whose benefit was that for,”_ Sam asks as she rolls her shoulder and puts her earrings back in.

“Just because Harry Bingham’s an asshole.”

He catches her later, as she’s ladling more punch into her cup. The sun’s heat is oppressive and she’s rolled her top up to her ribs, the sun warm on the skin of her stomach. Her mom keeps tugging it down when she passes.

“Impressive display, Pressman.”

Her responding grin is all teeth and no humour.

He steps closer and his voice is low. “You look really nice, by the way.”

She pushes past him, and tuts. “Watch what you say, Bingham. I’m only fifteen.”

Cassie crawls under her covers with her later that evening. Allie kisses her hairline, a little drunk.

“Happy birthday,” she whispers.

“Harry Bingham didn’t stop watching you all day,” Cassie yawns, pulling the covers around her and smashing her face into the pillow.

Allie doesn’t know what to do with that information, but it makes her grin at the ceiling anyway.

*

Four weeks after the competition, and a week after Cassie’s party, Harry finds Allie as she’s grooming Jigsaw and hands her a cheque.

It’s for $8,000, and is addressed to her.

“It’s customary to share a portion of your winnings with your herdsmen,” he explains, shrugging lightly. “The prize money came through yesterday.”

“Harry – this is far too much – I couldn’t possibly.”

He’s already walking away, calling over his shoulder. “You can’t fuck with custom, Pressman!”

Later on she look up the cut he’s given her. It’s roughly twenty per cent of the total. Her heart aches.

*

Kelly becomes a permanent feature at the barn, and Harry teaches her how to ride on Indigo. Allie tries not to like Kelly, but she makes it extremely hard. The blonde bakes brownies for the barn staff, and is happy to pitch in with any barn chores – even with cleaning out stalls, or clearing paddocks.

Kelly makes friends with everyone. Harry’s eyes are soft and he smiles, doesn’t smirk, at her. He corrects her position in the saddle with easy movements, hand light on her ankles or on her hands.

The only gratifying point is that despite her best efforts, Kelly is no natural on a horse.

“Do you have any tips?” she asks Allie one day, as Allie lopes around the arena. Since staying away, Jigsaw is slightly more obedient. Karen is talking about including the pair in some of the US team training over the winter, in preparation for next season. “You make it look so easy.”

Allie brings Jigsaw to a sliding stop, partly just to show off.

“You’ve just got to relax,” Allie advises, patting Jigsaw’s neck. The gelding looks unimpressed. “You’ve got to move with them, and persuade them, not tell them. The trick is to convince them that everything you want to do is their idea.”

“Pressman!” Harry is leading Indigo over, helmet in one hand. “I’ve told you - stop annoying people into liking you.”

Kelly looks at him, her lips pulled into a gentle smile. Harry is grinning, his face open and relaxed. Allie hasn’t seen him look so at ease for ages.

She looks away as they kiss.

*

It’s at the end of a training session in January when Harry cuts Jigsaw and Allie a look. “Damn, Pressman, at this rate you’ll be giving me a run for my money this season.”

Allie has never been formally invited into the US youth training scheme. She is there in her official capacity as a spare herdsman. But when the rest of the team members have finished, Buck focusses on her and Jigsaw and their cutting technicalities. It feels a little like pity, but she takes it anyway.

Buck flies down once a month to train the members in this state, but they still have to truck four hours to get there. Her parents complain about the amount of time she spends away from home. Things feel like they are finally falling into place. She can’t help but preen slightly, when Karen watches her from the barn or the fence.

“I’d start saving up some money for entry fees,” Karen advises, as Allie pulls a blanket over Jigsaw’s back. Allie looks away as she smiles.

*

Now that it looks like a reality, Allie looks up fees for entering competitions. Then adds on the contribution towards gas, the stabling fee and other ancillary costs. The figure is intimidating.

She starts waiting tables at a diner in town, saving every penny. She cashes her pay cheque every week and can’t help but feel proud as her account swells. She spends hours trawling eBay for second hand show gear, and finally pays for all the loose keepers on Jigsaw’s bridle to be fixed by the leather worker in town.

Allie turns sixteen in February and Harry and Kelly make it their mission to teach her how to drive. Kelly is a quiet and persistent teacher, saying things like “good job!” and “you’re much better than I was when I started,” completely unironically when Allie stalls for the tenth time in the row.

Harry mainly ridicules her, clutching theatrically at the handles and gasping every time the speedometer goes above ten. He even turns up once or twice in his riding helmet.

“You can never be too careful,” he says gravely when Allie complains.

They make her practice around the farm for a month before they consider her ready to go out on the roads. Her dad sits with her because Allie can’t cope with her mom’s half screams every time she accelerates.

Kelly bakes her brownies when she gets her permit, and the three of them sit and eat them whilst sitting at the edge of the barn, looking out across the paddocks. Kelly braids Allie’s hair in a fancy pattern, a crown around her head.

“Doesn’t she look pretty,” Kelly looks over to Harry, who’s been distracted by his phone.

Harry glances up, his eyes lingering on Allie. “Sure. Really pretty.”

Allie’s stupid, treacherous heart lurches in her chest. Kelly tucks strands under her design, pulling it around in consideration. Then she squeezes Allie’s shoulder and drops down next to her. “I’m glad we’re friends, Allie. I’ve always wanted a sister.”

*

Allie’s first competition is in May. She’s attended a few competitions with Harry in preparation, acting as his herdsman in each. She gets used to riding into the ring behind him, and Jigsaw starts to relax in the competition environment.

Buck is the one who chooses the venue. It’s their most local competition and there is no need to stay over. Allie barely sleeps in the run up, and even Karen seems a little nervous, focussing a little more on training Allie in between everything else she does.

Harry’s class is first thing in the morning, and Buck tells Allie to be herdsman to assist him as a warm up for her class later on. Harry appears relaxed, joking with Kelly who stands on the fence next to the chute. Allie can tell he’s nervous under the façade in the way he clenches the reins and in the set of his shoulders.

When the gate opens he glances at Allie quickly over his shoulder, and she smiles at him.

He wins, which surprises no one. Kelly cheers and presses a kiss to his cheek as he passes, before climbing off the fence and running to meet them in the warm up.

“Your turn next, Allie!” the girl palms Fiji a sugar lump and scratches at his neck. “You excited?”

Allie feels sick and has been folded over the toilet three times already, dry heaving. It’s a particularly grim experience because the toilets at the showground are temporary portable ones, and they can usually be smelt before they’re seen.

She hides in the box before her class, breathing deeply and concentrating on keeping her breakfast down. The air smells faintly of lavender. Half an hour before she’s due in the arena she rides Jigsaw over to the warm up.

There is a small crowd, which shocks her. Her mom and dad, Becca and Sam, Cassandra. Buck is discussing something with Karen, but lifts a hand in greeting.

“As if we’d miss this for the world,” her mom pats her knee, ducking out of the way as Jigsaw tries to bite her.

Olivia has ‘ALLIE’ painted on her forehead in bright red letters, and Sam and Becca unfurl a banner between them which is painted with ‘go, Allie, go!’ There’s a drawing of a black and white animal in the corner.

“Is that a cow, or Jigsaw?” Harry asks in amusement.

 _“Both,”_ Sam’s grin is wicked.

It makes her laugh, but it comes out as a stutter, and she concentrates on warming Jigsaw up. She’s in the novice junior category, which doesn’t draw much of a crowd. They are attracting some attention, mostly due to Buck’s presence and Allie having all members of the US cutting team as her herdsmen. She hadn’t given much thought as to who would be, but apparently they’d all offered.

Allie wonders if she’s going to faint in the chute, and if it weren’t for the fact she’d had a test to rule it out, she’d also be worried that her heart was defective due to its sporadic beating.

Something jostles her leg and it’s Harry, his hand on her knee. He says in a quiet voice, “Pressman, you are the best prepared person here. You’re gonna kill it. Even if you don’t, Becca’s got her fancy camera and the pictures will be immense.”

Jigsaw is tense, eyes already tracking the cows in the pen as they moved around. Allie can feel his heart thrumming in his chest.

Allie doesn’t remember much, but she does remember placing her whole faith into Jigsaw. Riding between the cows, them bumping her legs, and choosing a bright red one. Driving it from the herd, her heart beating like a hummingbird. Placing the reins on Jigsaw’s neck and trusting him, as he ducks and dives and weaves across the arena with a single-handed focus.

They don’t win – Jigsaw stumbles during the second cut, snorting with derision – but they do come third. She’s being pulled off Jigsaw and Karen’s taking his reins, and everyone’s mobbing her – Kelly and Sam and Becca, her mom and dad, Cassie.

“Oh, my God – he looked incredible,” Cassie enthuses, clutching her hand and jumping. “When he moves that fast he looks almost beautiful.”

Buck pulls her to one side. He scrutinises her closely. “You’re a bit late to the game here, kid. You’ve only got two years left in juniors. But I would be honoured if you’d agree to join the programme, in an unofficial capacity. I think you’ve got potential.”

She doesn’t stop grinning the entire way home. The barn staff all applaud when she walks in, and she feeds Jigsaw an entire bag of apples. Allie’s still leaning against him, telling him how good he is, when Harry finds her, hooking his arms over the door.

He hands her back the trophy engraved with ‘congratulations on not falling off’. Stupidly, it makes her want to cry, and she sniffs a little.

“Congratulations, Allie,” his eyes are soft on her, and it’s the exact same look he gives Olivia when she finally achieves something like reading a word with more than four letters.

*

There are a few parties over summer, and Allie goes to a couple. She gets pulled into drinking games by Kelly, who also keeps a sharp eye on her alcohol consumption levels. There’s only a year between them but sometimes the girls seem so much older, scrutinising the boys in the room.

They all seem to agree that Luke is the best looking, with Grizz a close second. Harry gets dismissed from the running.

“He’s just so arrogant,” the whole group turn and watch as Harry woops as he pots a ball at the pool table.

“He’s not, really,” Kelly defends him in a measured way, quiet but firm. “He’s actually really nice.” Nobody seems to believe her.

Allie’s in Clark’s kitchen later on, searching the cupboards for cordial, when she overhears the boy’s conversation. They’re sitting in the living room playing kill, marry, avoid.

Harry’s given the choice of Cassandra, Helena and Allie.

“Oh, God. Easy. Marry Helena – sorry, Luke – avoid Allie and kill Cassandra. I can’t imagine it would be too much of a stretch to kill Cassie. She’s the smuggest, most obnoxious person ever. It would be nice to take her down a notch or two.” His voice rises two octaves, “ _ooo, Harry, you beat me at the quiz again. Oh I’m the only one who can possibly be right._ I’d only be doing everyone a favour.” The group chuckles a little.

“I’d probably marry Allie,” Clark muses. “She seems less uptight than Helena. Plus she’s alright looking.”

“Bullshit, Helena’s way hotter,” Harry dismisses him quickly, and stands up. “Anyone want a drink?”

Harry ignores Allie in the kitchen, because they always ignore each other in public. Allie is aware that it’s all male bravado, all ego and bluster, but she’s blinking back tears anyway. She’s given up locating any cordial and is instead fumbling with the keg, trying to fill her cup.

“Here,” Harry’s voice is filled with amusement as he pulls the lever, hand tilting her solo cup. He’s tipsy, and standing much closer than he usually would. She stares resolutely at the stream, swallowing back her tears.

Usually she’d meet his eye and smile, and he’d check they were alone before responding.

“Allie – you okay?” his eyes are on her face and he sounds concerned, as he steps closer, his shoulder touching hers. She can feel his frown radiating off him.

She shuts the beer off as her cup gets full and turns on her heel, marching back into the living room, her shoulders tense.

Harry fucking Bingham.

*

She trucks across the country with the Bingham’s, and enters four competitions. She comes third in her second one, and then wins two back to back, and is upgraded to the next category.

Kelly joins them for most of them, and Allie is demoted more to a babysitter of Olivia. No one asks her to, but every time Kelly invites her anywhere, she declines. Instead she wiles away the time between rides sitting in Jigsaw’s stall, or reading to Olivia, or colouring with the younger girl. They walk slow circles of the showground, Olivia’s small hand in Allie’s. Allie takes her on the fair ground rides, holding her firmly on her knee.

It becomes more normal, to go into the ring. She still acts as herdsman for Harry, and he’s always in the ring with her when she competes, hands steady on his reins.

Allie sleeps on the floor of the box now, on a blow-up mattress. Kelly sleeps next to Harry on the mattress above the cab. Allie tries not to miss waking up next to him.

Things have changed, and even though he’s right there most of the time, she misses him.

The prize money is a lot lower in her category, and she’s barely breaking even. So she stops after her fifth competition, coming second in her upgraded category. It settles in her stomach, heavily, because there is still money in her account but her parents are always reminding her to be sensible, to think of the future, to not get ahead of herself.

Harry invites her to his next competition to be her herdsman. She declines.

He comes forth, and it’s the first time he wasn’t won in months. His mouth is a harsh tight line as he unloads Fiji off the box.

“Harry says Fiji is getting old and slow,” Kelly informs Allie. Now she’s on a break from competitions, Allie had been approached by a couple of boarders who wanted her help with their horses. It shocks her that anyone has deemed her competent but some of the solutions are so obvious that she can’t help but assist. She sets her rate at five dollars an hour and has never charged more than thirty dollars, even if she spends days working with the horse.

She’s currently brushing Dee down; a young bay mare with a penchant for dumping her rider.

Allie sweeps the brush over Dee’s back, and frowns when the bay flinches as it passes over her kidneys. Allie runs a hand, pressing harder. The mare grunts, and lifts a hind leg in warning. “Fiji’s only around eleven.” Allie checks over the rest of the mare, but she only flinches when Allie presses a certain spot on her back. “He’s not even hit his prime yet.”

“I think that’s what his mom said. But his dad said differently.”

Allie doesn’t know if money could buy loyalty stronger than that of Fiji’s to Harry. The chestnut’s gaze followed him everywhere. Allie’s pretty sure if Harry walked into Hell, Fiji would be trotting right after him.

*

In August, Allie sees on Facebook that Harry has been selected for the world cutting championship US team. She texts him congratulation, then heads straight to the dollar store and purchases as much obnoxious USA memorabilia as she can carry. When everyone leaves the barn for the night she decorates Fiji’s stall, using a step ladder and pins to hammer flag bunting into the wall. She unfurls a ridiculously big American flag and hangs it on the back wall, where it flickers in a faint draught. 

She tangles shiny metal streamers into Fiji’s bridle, and onto the stirrups of his saddle.

Then, six hours later, she gets a call. It wakes her up and she glares as her phone rings objectionably on her bedside table, the force of the vibration pushing it across the polished surface.

Allie doesn’t look at the screen before she answers, just blindly jabs at buttons until someone speaks.

“Hello?”

“Allie! ALLIE! She’s answered – it’s okay – Allie will come.” Harry is loud and his words run ever so slightly together. “Hi, Allie, hey, how’re you?” he doesn’t wait for an answer, “so me and the boys are out and we’re stuck and Clark might have thrown up in a cab – Grizz, make him drink some water – WATER, Grizz– and I was wondering, since you’re so great and so wonderful – whether you’d come pick us up.”

She’s never known how to say no to him.

“Oh you wonderful creature, you light of my life – I’ll text you where we are,” there’s something indistinct in the background, and the sound of liquid hitting a surface. Harry comes back on the line, bright and cheerful. “You may want to bring some trash bags.”

She hangs up on him.

It’s a thirty-minute drive to where they are and she gets lost three times in the unfamiliar town. Then she spots all four of them, Clark sitting on a shop front with his head in his hands. Grizz is the first to spot her and waves, smiling broadly. Allie pulls over and puts the warning lights on.

There is an undetermined amount of crap in the truck. Jason gets his foot tangled in a halter, and Grizz’s feet are perched on a bag of carrots. Harry sits in the front, all loose, languid limbs, and he talks a mile a minute.

Grizz rubs soothing circles into Clark’s back, holding the black plastic to his face. He feeds him slow sips of the bottle of water Allie passes to him from the front.

“God, what a night,” Harry sighs happily. He’s smiling at her, all soft and buzzed. “Pleasepleaseplease can we get a McDonalds?”

He orders her a strawberry milkshake and drinks half of it himself.

Grizz directs her to Clark’s house, and then Jason and Grizz are clambering out, pulling Clark with them. There’s a chorus of muffled thank you’s, then the doors slam shut and it’s just Harry and Allie.

“You would’ve loved it, Al. Grizz got hit on by a guy, it was great.” He pauses. “I wish you’d been there, to celebrate. You get it.”

Allie hums, indicating to pull out.

Harry falls silent, sucking obnoxiously on the straw of the milkshake, making it rattle. The twenty-five-minute drive passes a lot slower, with Harry fiddling with the radio dials in an attempt to tune it to a station. The tip of his tongue catches between his teeth as he concentrates.

She pulls down the drive and past the barns to his house, easing to a stop.

Harry looks at her. “I feel like you’re mad at me.”

Allie grits her teeth and looks out of the window, her thumbs tapping on the steering wheel.

He says, “please tell me what I’ve done wrong,” and it sounds like a plea.

“Why didn’t you call Kelly?”

He sits back in his seat with a sigh. “She wouldn’t pick up – she turns her phone off at night to reduce her risk of developing brain cancer.”

Allie smiles humourlessly.

“You always help,” his voice is small. Then, quieter, “you’re my best friend, Allie.”

She closes her eyes. She is tired of being the best friend, the helper, and never the first choice.

“I think you’re a pretty shitty friend actually, Harry.”

He looks at her, mouth opening with shock. His blue sweatshirt brings out flecks in his dark eyes. 

“You’ve ignored me in school for years – you don’t acknowledge me outside of the barn. You have some fucked up thing about horses and your friends and that’s fine, that’s your shit to deal with.” Her anger almost shocks her, and he’s still staring at her. “You idolize your dad despite your mom being an actual, literal angel, and if you’re not careful you’re gonna fuck up this team selection due to the fact you act like an arrogant, spoilt asshole.” She’s breathing heavily, and her eyes are stinging. “You only called me tonight because you needed a favour, and you knew I’d help you.”

The silence is heavy and suffocating. “I don’t think we’ve ever been friends, Bingham. I have only ever been convenient. I think we should stop pretending, now.”

The truck shakes with the force of the passenger side door slamming shut.

Allie cries all the way home.

*

It’s not the longest they’ve ever gone without speaking. Harry still speaks to her, and he’s cordial – pleasant, even.

It is strange and unsettling and makes her throat clam up. She is the same back, affable and courteous. Sometimes when they speak she can feel herself detaching, like she’s some hologram of herself.

She almost wishes they weren’t speaking at all.

Kelly still comes to the barn, but not as frequently. Sometimes she comes and watches Allie riding, or working with a horse. Allie learns titbits about Harry from these encounters, about how he’s getting on. He’s back on somewhat of a winning streak, and has won $250,000 in his past competition.

“I think him and his mom are arguing – she wants to put it into savings, and he wants to spend it.” Kelly never says anything negative about anyone, so sometimes it’s an effort to read between the lines to find her opinion.

Allie keeps her eyes on Mog, a small bay pony who was struggling some of the basic reining moves. She wants to ascertain whether the pony physically can’t, or just needs to be persuaded. She’s taken off her saddle and is lunging her in the round pen, watching her as she trots in neat circles.

“He’s different, recently,” when Allie glances at Kelly she’s pulling her jacket closer around herself. “Harder.”

Allie clucks her tongue at Mog and she shifts willingly into a steady canter, her head stretched low.

“He reminds me of his dad.” 

Harry’s dad is all cool marble, cold stares and cutting words. Leaving his son lying in the sand when he falls. Allie thinks Harry would hate the comparison.

*

It’s ten in the evening when she gets a slightly garbled, frantic call from Harry. She’s watching a film with Cassandra, hands curled around a mug of hot chocolate. Cassie keeps checking her phone for texts. Allie stares at the ringing phone for a long while before picking it up.

“Allie – you need to get here – it’s Jigsaw-” she hangs up on him, and is rushing, pulling her boots over her pyjamas.

“Cass – can you drive me – Harry says it’s Jigsaw,” but Cassandra’s already up, shrugging on her jacket, her car keys in her hand.

She drives steadily, trying to placate Allie as she drives. Allie has grabbed Jigsaw’s insurance documents on the way out, and the pages crumple as she grips them.

The lights are all on at the barn, and Harry meets her at the door. “It’s okay – well – mom’s called the vet – shit, Allie.”

Allie knows it’s bad because Karen is in the stall with Jigsaw and he isn’t trying to chase her out. His head is low and his coat is frothed in white, foamy sweat. He keeps looking at his stomach, and swishing his tail, but he also looks like all life has leaked out of him.

The noise she makes is low, and she’s stroking his face and his ears and doesn’t know what to do.

“I think it’s colic,” Karen says quietly, and she’s pulling a thick, expensive looking rug over his back and buckling the straps. “I heard him rolling and came right out.”

Colic is perhaps every horse owner’s nightmare. There are dark marks all up the walls from where he’d been scrambling, and the bed is damp where he’s smashed his water bucket.

“Do you think anything’s twisted?” Allie asks quietly, pressing her forehead to Jigsaw’s. His eyes are closed.

“Let’s wait for the vet,” Karen’s face is grim.

The vet arrives. He’s small and wiry with dark hair, and examines Jigsaw quickly, a stethoscope to his sides.

“We can’t really tell anything for certain unless we take him in,” the vet says to Karen, as the only adult present.

Karen asks what Jigsaw’s insurance cover includes. Allie can’t read the papers due to her hands trembling, but Harry takes them from her and examines them with Cassie, their heads bent over the paper. They determine that it excludes colic surgery, which makes Allie’s breath gust out all in one fell swoop.

The vet provides an estimate of the surgery to be eight to ten thousand dollars. Cassie whirls away to call their parents. Karen asks the vet to give Jigsaw a shot of pain relief, and looks at Harry.

He pulls her into the tack room and pushes a glass of raspberry cordial into her hand.

“We could pay for it,” Harry says, and when she looks at him, he’s looking almost as wrecked as Allie feels, his hair on end. He has sweat pants and a zipped up sweatshirt on, but nothing underneath.

“We could never pay you back,” she whispers.

Harry’s shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. Honestly. Please, Allie-”

Cassie’s at the door, her phone in one hand. She looks drawn. “Mom and dad said no to surgery – I’m so sorry.”

Allie’s only sixteen and she has to live with her parents for the next however many years. They already argue about money, and there’s Cassie’s medical bills and many more important things in life. If she thinks too hard it threatens to choke her, but she knows, truly, that if she defied her parents it would potentially break them. Instead she asks the vet if there are any other options. His eyes are gentle as he explains they could try pain relief, gentle exercise, and fluids.

It does not seem a winning combination, as Jigsaw lets out a low groan and shifts.

“What’s the prognosis if we do that?” Harry has an edge to his voice, and Allie can only appreciate how close he stands – not quite touching, but reassuring anyway.

“It’s hard to say because I can’t tell if anything is twisted, compacted or ruptured – but maybe thirty per cent.”

“Thirty per cent death rate?” Allie’s voice is small.

The vet looks sympathetic. “No. Survival rate.”

The vet gives the pain relief, and then the fluids are administered through a long tube pushed down his nostril. It looks horrendous, and Allie cries a little as it’s happening. Jigsaw barely flinches, even when the tube is dragged out. The vet then packs up, and advises that they ring should anything change. The air is heavy with what is left unsaid.

“Cassie, you’re dead on your feet,” Karen says, as Cassie sags against the stall wall. “You can go in the house and catch a couple of hours, if you need to.”

“My meds are at home,” her sister mumbles, and Allie half hears the conversation as Karen persuades her to go home. Cassie gives her a long, hard hug before she leaves.

“He’s going to be okay,” she tells Allie, but it sounds a lot like a lie.

Then it’s just Harry, Allie and Karen. They coax Jigsaw from the stall and he drags his feet and sways. Allie croons to him the whole time, and the three walk the reluctant gelding up and down the barn aisle for ten minutes every half an hour.

He doesn’t try to roll anymore, but his head is low and dejected and he sways where he stands. They all cheer quietly when he farts once at 3am, because it means something, somewhere is moving.

Allie falls asleep around 5am, sat in the straw in the corner of his stall. Harry went to bed an hour earlier, and him and Karen take it in turns to come out every two hours to check. Nothing changes.

She wakes up half an hour later, and through cracks in her eyelids she sees Harry trying to tempt Jigsaw into eating an apple. The vet had advised to try water and watery foods such as apples, to try and ease any blockage.

Harry is speaking quietly to the horse. “You better eat up, you little shit,” the boy bites off a mouthful of apple and offers it to him, saying “oh, does a whole apple seem like too much effort?” He holds the piece of apple to Jigsaw’s lips for a long time, and then Jigsaw takes it from him, teeth crunching easily through the fruit’s flesh. “There you go, you bastard,” Harry sounds relieved, and strokes the gelding’s face once. “If you die she’s going to be absolutely heartbroken, so you better not, you little fucker.” Jigsaw eats the apple painfully slowly, taking one small bitten off piece after another.

Harry tries another apple, and then offers him some water in a bucket. Jigsaw nudges the bucket with his muzzle, so it sloshes over Harry’s hand. “Yeah, I don’t like you much either, you shit. But she does, so you better stick around.”

Allie wakes up again at half six, her neck cricked. Someone has folded an old woollen horse blanket over her, and she has straw in her hair and in her pyjama pants. Karen is checking Jigsaw over, running her hands over his sides and flanks. The gelding makes an extremely half-hearted attempt to snap at her, which she rebuffs easily.

“He’s had some water, and I’m going to try a really liquid feed,” Karen notices she’s awake, and smiles at her. “I think he’s over the worst now, honey.”

Allie is on her feet and stroking his face, kissing above his halter.

“There’s some pancakes on the stove, and Harry will take you to school. I’ve rung your parents.” She is hugging Allie then. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

She borrows Harry’s smallest pair of sweatpants, and his school sweatshirt. It’s comedically long on her, covering her hands. She looks a mess with no makeup, and texts Cassie to bring a change of clothes to school. Then she joins Harry at the table where he’s slumped, sleep deprived, acknowledging her existence with a grunt and chewing on the pancakes slowly. Olivia fills any silence with easy nonsense chatter.

He takes a detour to his favourite coffee shop and makes Allie run in when he pulls up outside.

“Really,” he sighs, “it’s the least you can do.”

And it is – so she fetches his stupid triple shot mocha with an extra caramel shot, and gets a cappuccino for herself. He drops Olivia at kindergarten (it makes her feel a little weird, watching him lead his sister down the pathway with her hand firmly in his), and then they pull up at school.

They get out and walk to the entrance together, and Harry says, “you may as well come back to mine tonight,” and she nods, because it makes sense and she wants to check on Jigsaw again.

She says, “thank you for last night.”

“No problem.”

They set off in opposite directions, Allie hunting her sister down for a change of clothes that makes her look less like Harry Bingham.

*

It takes approximately forty minutes for the rumours to find their way back to her, and it’s in the form of Becca slamming her bag down next to her in English Literature.

“Did you sleep with Harry Bingham last night?” the girls asks without preamble. Allie looks at her, frowning. “Only there’s a lot of rumours going around, and you turned up together, you wearing his clothes.”

“Oh – no. Jigsaw was sick last night and I stayed the night at the barn. Harry gave me a ride in this morning.”

Becca eyes her, almost warily. “Are you going back to his tonight? Because apparently he said ‘you should come back to mine tonight’,” her voice deepens in a poor imitation of Harry’s.

“Well, yeah – but just to check on Jigsaw,” she is tired and worried, and pulls her sleeves over her hands.

“Okay,” Becca looks at her, hard and sharp. “Sorry for the inquisition. I knew it would probably be about stupid horses. I bet Kelly’s going to be out for blood, though, so head’s up.”

Allie doubts Kelly could ever be out for blood, and she’s proved right when the girl joins Harry and Allie in the car on the way back to the barn. It means Allie’s demoted to the backseat, alongside Olivia’s booster seat.

“I’m sorry about Jigsaw,” Kelly says sweetly, because she is perhaps one of the nicest people Allie has ever met. Allie meets her eye in the mirror and smiles, but she’s also chewing her thumb nail and trying not to think too much. Karen had texted extremely infrequent updates, all of them positive, but Allie doesn’t think she’ll breath straight until she sees him herself.

She can see Jigsaw moving around the stall from a distance, his face looking smoother and clearer. His eyes are no longer misted, and he properly lunges for her with his teeth, even if it’s slow and with a grunt of exertion.

“Back to normal,” Karen confirms, and her hand is on Allie’s shoulder in reassurance. Allie exhales and leans against the door. “We’ll stick with mash feed for now, and reintroduce hay later in the week. But – he’s looking good, Allie.”

Footsteps approach, and Jigsaw makes a face at him across the stable, teeth bared.

Harry sighs. “God, I wish he’d died so we’d all finally be free.”

Allie doesn’t even have the energy to hit him.

*

They go straight back to being cordial to each other and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

Sometimes she thinks about apologising just to make it go away. She rehearses the conversations in her head, trying to formulate something which sounds right. Whatever she practices never fits. She thinks it may be because although she’d said it harshly, it had all mostly been true.

Harry acknowledges her in school now, which almost makes things worse. He tips his chin in her direction and says, “Pressman,” coolly as he passes.

It would have been a victory, weeks ago. Now it feels like a punishment.

*

They’re the middle of a chemistry lab when Allie’s phone vibrates on the bench. Sam’s attention is drawn by the screen lighting up and he frowns at the name on the display. It rings solidly, and then stops.

Allie glances at the screen as it starts ringing again, confused to see Karen Bingham’s name as the caller ID. Her heart jumps into her mouth as worst-case scenarios involving Jigsaw start racing through her mind. Colic has a high chance of re-occurrence in the immediate aftermath, and although she’s been extra careful it’s been a constant source of anxiety. She’s even been driving to the barn in the middle of the night, unable to sleep until she knows Jigsaw’s okay.

Allie answers the call, keeping a wary eye on the teacher who’s helping Becca and Emily at the front of the class. “Hi, Karen. Everything okay?” She keeps her voice low, to avoid detection, but Karen’s already speaking.

“Allie! Thank God – can you get Harry – you have to get Harry – oh, fuck,” her voice is broken and it sounds like she’s crying, her words muffled against the speaker of her phone. Allie looks at Sam in alarm, tucking her phone between her shoulder and ear and signing _“I’ve got to go – cover for me.”_

She’s pushing all her books into her bag and standing, pulling her jacket from her lab stool. In the corridor she says, “Karen, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

The woman is definitely crying. “It’s his dad, Allie. Can you bring him home? I need him home. They’re going to tell him and fuck, it’s going to kill him.”

Allie thinks she knows what’s happened and her eyes close and her heart breaks for Harry Bingham as Karen speaks. “I found him half an hour ago. He’s dead. Jesus, fuck, Allie.”

“I’m coming, I’ll drive him back now. Is Olivia there?” Allie walks fast, shouldering her backpack and trying to remember what class Harry has now. She’s pretty sure it’s English as that’s what Cassie has and she likes to complain about him. Karen confirms Olivia is at home, and Allie tries to reassure her but doesn’t have the words to do so, then hangs up.

Her sneakers squeak on the linoleum as she runs, skidding around corners. There’s a metallic clang as her shoulder hits a locker when she takes a corner too quickly, and somebody shouts at her to stop running in the hallway.

She turns the corner at the precise moment he gets told, or comprehends what they’re telling him, because she sees the look of polite confusion on his face give way to horror. His hands fly to his hair and he’s pulling at it, his shoulders slumping. As she gets closer she can hear him saying “no, no, no,” and he’s crying, no, sobbing.

She crashes into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding him steady, as though she can hold the fragmented pieces of him together. Harry leans onto her, and he’s shaking and crying into her hair.

The principal and the school counsellor are stood watching them. Allie says, “I can take him home.”

They both hesitate. The principal says, “I think we should wait for his mom.”

“She rang me,” her voice is short and sharp and under different circumstances Allie would never dare talk to the principal like that, for fear of damaging any college references. But Harry needs to leave, and now. “I’m taking him.”

He is pliant, and follows her to the parking lot. She keeps a firm grip on his arm, and tries not to panic at the weight of the situation. He gets into the back of her truck, and she gets into the front, but then she catches a snapshot of him in the rear-view mirror, crying and devastated. So she climbs into the back and pulls him to her, her hands carding through his hair and rubbing his arms and just being. It’s one of those moments that is so surreal and so remote from normal occurrences that it does not feel tangible.

When he stops crying she leaves him on the backseat and starts driving, twisting her head to check on him every so often. He lies across all of the backseat, one hand resting across his eyes. Under different circumstances, he’d be the perfect model for a renaissance study of the human form.

She stops by the store and buys three bottles of peach iced tea, because it’s his favourite and she’s concerned he’s going to dehydrate. It takes some gentle bullying, but he downs one of the bottles.

Karen is waiting outside the house, and Harry collapses into her, his head on her shoulder.

Allie stands behind them and feels like an intruder on their grief.

She says, “Karen, I’m so sorry. I’ll sort the horses for now.”

Karen is going into the house and she looks haunted, but she looks back at Allie and nods and thanks her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would anyone believe me if i said this started as a 500 word drabble?? no?? 
> 
> thank you so much to all lovely readers - it honestly means the world. hope you're all staying safe!!


	4. four.

Allie breaks the news to the barn staff who all look shocked. It takes the purpose out of the day and the horses are affected by the change in mood, acting more spooked than usual.

Allie cleans out stalls and brushes coats and even levels the arena with the quadbike. Then she gets hungry and ends up at the door of the Bingham’s, wondering whether to go in. She does, resolving to grab some food, make a quick check on everyone, and then leave.

Karen’s standing in the kitchen, clutching the counter and staring out of the window. Olivia is playing loudly with something in the next room. Karen doesn’t look around, even when Allie makes herself louder than usual to announce her presence.

“Have you eaten?” Karen looks around then, her eyes dull. She shakes her head. “Here, sit down, I’ll make lunch.” Allie pulls out a chair at the island in the middle of the kitchen and gestures towards it. Then she starts pulling things out of the fridge and cupboards, slicing the fancy artisan bread they buy.

Olivia comes in slowly, drawn by the noise. She clutches her toy rabbit in one hand, her finger running over the ears. “Everyone’s sad,” she informs Allie.

Allie’s heart clenches and she is way too unprepared for this scenario. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she tells Olivia, as she bustles around the kitchen making grilled cheese and putting them on plates. She puts a plate in front of Karen.

“Come on Livvy, let’s go give this to Harry.” Olivia trails behind her as they go up the stairs and open the door to Harry’s room.

The covers are pulled over his head and the curtains are closed. He doesn’t move when they come in.

“Harry,” she tries, and lays one hand on where she thinks his shoulder would be. He shifts away from her. “I’ve brought you lunch. I’ll leave it here.” She balances the cutlery on the plate and puts it down on his bedside table with a clang.

Allie cuts Olivia’s grilled cheese up for her, testing a piece to make sure it’s cool enough. Olivia is subdued as she eats, her eyes wide as she considers Karen. Allie washes all their plates and then sits with the girl on the couch, sliding the Spirit DVD into the player. Karen joins them, watching the screen impassively. She alternates between holding Olivia close until the girl wriggles away in protest, and crying silently.

She doesn’t feel out of place until Kelly turns up, precisely twenty-three minutes after school has finished.

“Mrs Bingham, I am so sorry for your loss,” she says, and she’s kicking her shoes off and standing in the living room looking disjointed.

“Harry’s in his room,” Karen says quietly. Kelly nods and takes the stairs quickly.

Allie says, “is there anyone I can call for you?” Karen looks bone weary.

“My sister’s coming over, she’ll be here soon.” She rubs a hand over her face. “Thank you, Allie. I don’t know if you’ve had a fight recently or something, but Harry’s really lucky to have you as a friend. We all are.”

Allie helps the barn staff bring all the horses in from the paddocks and then drives home slowly. Cassie’s waiting for her in the kitchen with mac and cheese on the stove. She’s put chives in it, exactly how Allie likes.

Later on, she’s staring at her ceiling. Cassandra is curled up next to her because she knows how Allie likes physical company when she’s upset. She’s pretty sure Cassie is asleep when she whispers, “I don’t understand why I’m so upset. I didn’t know him. From what I knew, he was an asshole.”

Cassie shifts groggily, her arm flailing a little. She laces her fingers through Allie’s.

“It’s normal. You’d be heartless if you felt fine about this. It’s more the effect you know it’s going to have on Harry.”

“He’s going to be a wreck.”

“He’s Harry fucking Bingham. He’ll be okay, in the end.”

Allie wills herself to believe it.

*

Harry misses school for three weeks. Allie catches glimpses of him at the funeral, as he carries his father’s coffin down the aisle. Kelly is by his side, solemn and dependable.

Allie visits him, once. He’s in bed and she sits on the covers, leaning against the headboard, eating mint chocolate chip ice cream. She’s brought him a spoon, but he stares at it listlessly. Instead she fills the empty silence with inane chatter, about recent cutting training with Buck, about idle gossip at school.

She pauses for breath, and to shovel ice cream into her mouth. A molten piece drops onto the covers and she looks up quickly, hoping he hasn’t seen her wiping it off.

He’s watching her blankly. “Are you trying to irritate me into liking you?”

“Yup. Want some ice cream?”

He turns back over. She feels defeated.

*

Just when the school seems to be adapting to the loss of Harry Bingham, he’s back.

He has his arm slung around Kelly’s shoulders, and he kisses her in the corridor, hands cupping her face. Someone hoots at them to get a room, and he pulls back, shooting a smirk their way.

Allie almost walks into her locker. Becca follows her line of sight. “Oh, Bingham seems to have bounced back.”

Harry’s laughing, slapping someone on the back. Kelly stands next to him, but when he’s not looking at her, her smile fades.

*

Karen drives them to training and there is a frosty cool silence between Harry and his mom. The training has a subdued quality to it, until Harry snaps, “I’m not going to have a fucking breakdown, so stop going easy on me.”

The session grinds to a halt and everyone in earshot turns to watch Buck and Harry. Buck is very still in the middle of the arena, chewing on a toothpick. Eventually he shrugs.

“You said it, kid.”

Both Harry and Fiji are shuddering in deep breaths by the end of the session. Harry meets Allie’s gaze whilst they walk cool down laps. The look in his eyes is almost feral.

*

Allie works as many hours as she can at the diner, and is still being drawn into working with problems with boarder’s horses at the barn. Along with schoolwork, it doesn’t leave much time for anything else.

Harry is still polite, sometimes overly so. He hasn’t said anything substantial to her Jigsaw had colic, which was months ago. Karen looks drawn and spends less time at the barn. Allie sees more of Kelly than she does of Harry; Kelly even helps exercise Indigo. She joins Allie on trail rides and they talk about everything but Harry Bingham. If Allie hadn’t attended the funeral, she would have her doubts that anything had changed. If anything, Harry is louder, larger than life. He’s still battling with Cassie for the intellectual top spot. There’s a flurry of college applications and acceptances – she hears distantly that he’s been accepted into Yale to study law.

Cassie is juggling all her classes with determination. It mostly involves her hunching over the kitchen table muttering under her breath. Allie provides her with a constant stream of homemade cookies, only slightly burnt around the edges. Something has changed between them – Cassie turned eighteen in September, and her focus has expanded beyond West Ham. Thinking of life without Cassandra being immediately available is almost incomprehensible. Allie keeps finding Cassie looking at her softly, or catching her off guard with hugs.

She feels nostalgic despite nothing having changed.

*

Allie vaguely knows of Will LeClair from around school. When he starts working at the diner for the Thanksgiving rush, they fall into an easy pattern of sarcastic quips and half lines, thrown at each other as they pass in the kitchen or the restaurant.

Becca narrows her eyes as she watches Allie and Will, considering. Will pulls strands of hay from Allie’s hair and calls her a cowboy. It is soft and almost affectionate and Allie’s stomach does a half flip as his fingers brush her shoulder.

Allie takes Will to the barn one Saturday morning after their breakfast shift. Jigsaw snaps at the air near her left shoulder and Will balks, situating himself far out of the striking range.

“Oh, he doesn’t mean it,” Allie says, as the gelding stamps a front leg and pins his ears back.

“You’re like one of those crazy dog people who thinks their growling, salivating German Shepherd is as harmless as a little chihuahua.”

Allie laughs, and Will grins at her. She still persuades him to get on Jigsaw anyway, after riding him first to demonstrate his obedience.

Will narrows his eyes at her, buckling up the helmet. “If I die, please delete my browser history.”

She holds Jigsaw’s bridle tightly and leads them around the arena, critiquing his form. Even urges Jigsaw into a trot and runs alongside, laughing at Will’s pained expression.

He dismounts gingerly, walking stiffly. “That was not enjoyable – it seems more like some form of torture.”

“You get used to it,” Allie promises, and has to grapple with Jigsaw to take his bridle off.

Will prefers Snowy – he buries his hands into the Shetland’s coat, getting covered in white hair. Snowy lips sugar cubes from his palm and tugs gently at Will’s jacket with his teeth when he wants more attention.

Will starts sitting with Allie, Becca and Sam at lunch. He is a little awkward around Sam at first, not wanting to offend or leave him out. But then he soon falls into the habit of ensuring Sam is watching his face, or that someone else is translating the conversation into sign.

Their shoulders bump when they pass each other at work, or their hands brush when they polish cutlery, the metal hot from the washer, arms pressed together.

“You finally annoyed someone into liking you, Pressman?” Harry’s gaze is on Will, who’s sitting with Karen on the outside of the arena. They’re bundled up in jackets and hats and scarves, hands curled around mugs of hot chocolate that Will brought in a thermos. He’s added shots of mint syrup, knowing it’s her favourite.

Allie can’t help but smile fondly at the sight. She has never felt so interesting or wanted. Will insists on coming to watch her training sessions. He probably hadn’t anticipated how long the drive would be, or how much standing around there would be, but every time she catches his eye he grins widely at her, or pulls a face to make her laugh.

Having him there throws her off her rhythm, and Buck appraises her at the end of the session as she has a mis-communication with Jigsaw. The gelding throws his head in protest, bucking and twisting, and Allie almost falls. “Maybe you should leave distractions at home from now on,” Buck advises with a pointed look towards Will. Allie can feel herself blushing.

When they get back, Allie’s cousin Campbell is waiting outside the barn. Somewhere behind him his girlfriend Elle stands, avoiding Allie’s curious look. Harry jumps out of the cab and heads straight into the house with the pair, leaving Karen to unload and sort out Fiji.

Allie celebrates New Year with Becca, Sam and Will. They make homemade pizza, the dough sticking to their hands, and watch Diehard, at Will’s request. They get inappropriately drunk and scream along to Bohemian Rhapsody, the volume turned right up so Sam can feel the bass. At midnight she catches Will’s eye and then he’s there, hugging her, pulling back. He looks shy, hesitant, so she pulls him down by his shirt and kisses him.

Behind them, Sam and Becca cheer loudly. Then Becca kisses Sam, which makes everyone laugh.

They don’t really clarify anything, but Will is suddenly very present. They study in the library together, or he joins her at the barn. He doesn’t warm to Jigsaw, but he puts up with it anyway. They kiss in the corridors between classes, and then she invites him around for dinner with her parents.

The dinner goes well. Will is unfailingly polite and offers to help his mom with clearing up. Cassie shoots Allie an impressed look across the table. Her dad seems a little reserved, and when Will leaves (after kissing Allie on the doorstep and promising he would text her when he got home) Allie rounds on him.

“Don’t you like him?” Allie demands, and Cassie and her mom busy themselves collecting dessert plates from the table.

“He’s really, really nice.” Her dad isn’t the weird possessive type, so she narrows her eyes at him. “I just – I don’t know. He doesn’t really seem your type.” That draws Allie up short and she frowns at her dad uncomprehendingly. “But if you’re happy, then obviously I am too.”

And Allie is. Extremely happy.

*

Will joins her almost every weekend at the barn. He doesn’t even ask now – just throws his bike into the back of the truck and climbs into the cab.

She almost misses being alone. Having someone watching from the fence constantly ruins her concentration. He can’t even call out advice or offer his opinion. When she asks, he shrugs and tells her that everything she does looks good. Allie has to remind herself to not be ungrateful.

Allie is lunging Jigsaw in the round pen, her gaze fixated on his off-hind leg. He’d seemed a little reluctant and guarded yesterday on the trails. When she asks Will whether it looks like he’s limping on it, he watches the horse trot around the pen for two circuits.

“He looks fine to me,” he assesses.

Allie hums, considering. Jigsaw is definitely dropping a hip, and snatches the leg up quicker than the other one.

“Allie?”

Jigsaw draws to a walk as Allie looks up at the voice. Kelly stands watching the pair, looking small in her puffy jacket. “Can I have a word?”

Grateful for the distraction, Allie climbs the fence to join her. Jigsaw stands in the pen, watching them, ignoring Will as he clucks his tongue to try and gain his attention.

“Everything alright?” now she’s closer Allie can see the girl wiping at her eyes and sniffing, holding back tears.

“I just broke up with Harry,” Kelly explains, pressing one gloved hand to her nose. “I feel awful – because of his dad and everything. Him and his mom aren’t really getting along. But he’s really different and I can’t help him anymore.” Allie pulls Kelly into a tight hug. Kelly clings to her.

“It’s okay,” Allie reassures her as she lets her go. “You can only do as much as he lets you.”

Kelly pulls her sleeve over her hands and rubs it over her face. “Can you keep an eye on him for me? I’ll check in on him and stuff, but you train together and you’re always at the barn…”

Allie reassures her she will and pulls her in for another long hug. Her instinct is to go straight to the house to check on him, but Will’s looking at her curiously and asking whether everything’s alright.

“Yeah – Kelly’s just broken up with Harry though, so she’s asked me to make sure he’s okay.”

Will snorts. “I’m not surprised, he’s a total jerk. I’ve never understood what Kelly sees in him. She’s way out of his league. What?” Allie’s shot him an almost glare, her eyes narrowing. She has to push down anger, temper it.

“Give him a break,” she snaps, climbing back over the fence into the round pen. Jigsaw watches her.

“You know it’s true. She’s one of the prettiest, nicest girls at school, and he’s never appreciated her.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Will. You don’t know him.” He sits back, holding his hands up in appeasement. Allie looks away, biting her tongue.

*

It’s a Sunday and Allie’s finished her breakfast shift at the diner. Her hands are dry from where she had to do a stint pot washing. She waits in her truck for Will, because this is now her routine. She works with her boyfriend, goes to the barn with her boyfriend, studies with her boyfriend.

As they turn into the driveway, Campbell is driving out. He salutes Allie mockingly.

“Do you ever get bored?” Will asks as he unbuckles his belt.

“Of the barn? Never.”

Will looks disbelieving.

They’d slept together for the first time two weeks ago, the day before her seventeenth birthday. He was sweet, but his brow furrowed as he considered the bruises and scrapes that littered her body. Afterwards, when they lay side by side in her bed, he said, “sometimes I feel you’re in some sort of abusive relationship you can’t escape.”

She’d frowned at him. He’d pulled her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

*

As Cassie became more embroiled in the college process, she starts lecturing Allie on her future.

“You want to keep your options open,” Cassie eats a yogurt opposite Will and Allie, who are muddling their way through their algebra homework. “You’re a pretty good allrounder, so apply for something broad. Then you can find out what you like whilst you’re there and focus on that.”

Allie is distracted by one problem, squinting at the paper. “I’m not sure I’m applying for college.”

Silence follows the statement, and then they both speak at her, over each other.

“What do you mean you’re not _applying_?”

“What? Since when? What are you going to do instead?”

She fixes them both with a level stare until they back down. Cassie stands up, placing her spoon in the dish washer and rinsing the yogurt pot out for the recycling.

“We’ll talk about this later.” Allie feels small under her gaze as Cassie sweeps out of the room.

“Who’s she, my mother?” she complains balefully, glancing at Will for support.

Only he’s looking at her, jaw jutted. His eyes are dark. “I expected better from you, Allie.”

“What?” she’s staring at him, surprised, trying to scramble for reason as to why he’s looking at her like she’s muck on his shoe.

“You have so many opportunities, some most people can only dream of. What are you going to do instead?”

Allie can feel herself shutting down, drawing back. “College isn’t everything, Will. I don’t think I should just drop myself into thousands of dollars’ worth of debt lightly-” He’s shaking his head. Allie has a rush of anger. “It’s my choice.”

“Well, as long as Allie Pressman gets to do what she wants, then that’s okay.” He looks over at her, at the dumbfounded expression on her face. She is completely blindsided. His face softens, and he puts an arm around her shoulders. “Oh, Allie, it’s okay. Look, it’s natural to be worried about change. We can look at colleges. You’ve got a whole year left yet. I just want the best for you.”

*

Will is always keener to go to parties than she is. Allie slides lipstick over her lips as she considers her reflection in the mirror. Becca holds up tops in front of the closet mirror, alternating between the two.

“Do you think this makes me look frumpy?” Becca asks, showing Allie the first option.

“I prefer the blue one.” Becca always appreciates honesty, and so pulls the blue on. It’s crushed velvet, with a low neckline. Allie nods approvingly. “You look really good, Becs.”

Returning her focus to the mirror, she spritzes her face with make up fixing spray. The red lipstick isn’t something she usually wears, but she likes how it makes her look fierce.

“We don’t have to go tonight,” Becca pulls on her shoes but sends Allie an almost knowing look.

“I told Will I would go, so.”

Becca hums a little. “I really like Will…”

Allie looks at her in the reflection of the mirror. “But what?”

“But – you shouldn’t change who you are to suit someone else. I’ve seen you looking at college brochures. I thought you wanted a year out, to figure things out.”

Allie clicks the top of her lipstick on with force. “It’s good to have options.”

Becca looks as though she wants to say more, but decides against it. Instead she says, “you sound like Cassie,” with a small smile.

“Well, Cassie’s always right,” it comes out a little bitter and Allie isn’t willing to be drawn down that road, so she stands up. “Come on. Let’s just get so drunk we start screaming Queen lyrics and think we can dance.”

*

The party is at Clark’s house; a sprawling mansion with a flagpole and an American flag in the front garden and a pool in the back.

Allie’s always hated beer, but she downs two cupful’s in quick succession. From across the room, Kelly waves at her. Becca meets her eye, tips her cup to Allie’s, and they both down the contents.

They play beer pong, which Allie is terrible at. Becca makes her down every cup they lose as penance. Then Becca’s going to the bathroom and Allie is alone. She gravitates to the pool, where people have jumped in and are swimming lazily around. There are patio heaters conveniently littered around in the casual way rich people decorate their homes, knowing they’ll be entertaining other equally rich people at some point. They take the cold bite out of the air, but so does the beer Allie’s downed.

Across the pool she can see Will, head down and body leaning towards Kelly. He must have come through the side gate, or not known she was here, because he hasn’t even said hello. It stings a little, that he hasn’t come looking for her, but equally she hasn’t gone looking for him either.

“They’re looking cosy,” Allie almost gives herself whiplash with the speed with which her head turns. Harry’s looking across the pool, frowning slightly, beer bottle in one hand. “Your boyfriend and my ex-girlfriend.” Harry’s moving constantly, tapping his bottle against his hand, or shifting his weight, or moving a leg.

Allie shrugs, sips at her beer. It’s still warm and gross.

“How’s it going, with LeClair?” Harry’s gaze doesn’t fix on her, instead moves around everyone else at the party.

“Fine. Good.” Harry looks at her. “He has a lot of morals.”

“Sure looks like it.” They both watch as Will has his hand on Kelly’s hair, pulling something from the blonde strands. Allie wonders if she should be more bothered.

Harry alternates between looking at them and looking at Allie. “You know,” his voice is wry. “There’s no shame in admitting that something’s not working out.”

“Everything is working out.”

“Okay.”

“Will is really nice.”

“Okay.”

“He’s super supportive, he’s helping me with SAT preparation and colleges and stuff.”

“I thought you didn’t want to go to college.” He is so poised, so cool and casual, eyes constantly surveying for a better conversation opportunity.

Her breath gusts out in one frustrated huff. “Why does everyone think they can tell me what I want?”

His look is inscrutable. It unnerves her.

“How’s Kelly?” she tries instead, because for some reason she wants to cling onto this interaction. Maybe because her boyfriend is across the pool touching another girl’s hair. Maybe because she’s half hoping he’ll kiss Kelly which is definitely not a thought that should be occurring to her.

“Good, I think. We’re kind of still friends, maybe.”

“I think she misses you.” They’ve never done emotion, so she keeps her gaze on the other guests. Distantly she can see Elle and Campbell, his hand gripping her wrist. Campbell is talking at his girlfriend, fast, and her gaze is fixed on her feet.

It’s Harry’s turn to shrug. He says, “got to go see a man about a dog. See you around,” but two strides away he stops and turns back to her. Looks like he’s going to say something else. But he doesn’t.

*

Allie watches Will and Kelly for a few moments longer. Will has his hands on her but she doesn’t on him; but her eyes are on his face and she laughs quite a lot. Maybe Will is just being friendly and helpful, removing something from her hair.

As Allie approaches, Kelly smiles at her. “Allie!” she’s pulled into a hug, the girl’s arms tight around her. When she’s released Allie notices that Will has stepped away from Kelly.

He puts an arm around Allie’s shoulders, kisses her forehead.

Two hours later, her and Becca are dancing up a storm in the kitchen. It’s all flailing limbs and head thrashing. They keep making requests for Bohemian Rhapsody to Bean, lacing their fingers together and begging. Bean ignores them.

“Harry looks really hot tonight.” Allie has to press her palm against the wall next to her as she pees, because the room is spinning.

“He looks hot every night.” Becca is examining her reflection in the mirror, frowning at herself. “I’ve always thought – maybe – have you two ever had a thing? It’s so weird – but you were at that competition together in the summer, and you seemed to know each other really well...”

Allie busies herself with pulling her dress down and flushing the toilet. “We grew up together.”

“Is that all?”

“Doesn’t everyone have a Harry Bingham crush, at some point?” Allie shoos Becca out of the way so she can wash her hands.

“It just seems to me like you’re in here talking about how hot Harry’s looking, when your boyfriend is out there looking like a verifiable snack.”

There’s not much of a defence, to that. Allie mumbles, “well, that goes without saying – he is a snack,” and Becca stares hard at her.

*

“I know I don’t have a car and so I have automatically lost this argument – but sometimes, my no car is better than your shitty truck.”

Allie loves her shitty truck. The truck has taken Cassie and Jasper all over the country, and now takes Jigsaw around whenever she’s not hitching a ride with the Bingham’s. Allie thinks it may even be older than her, but doesn’t actually want to find out that she’s putting her life into a twenty-year-old machine.

“Hey, have some respect. Eric’s been around since before you could walk.”

Allie ducks back under the bonnet, frowning at the exposed engine. When she twists the key in the ignition the engine is turning over, but not starting.

“Do you even know anything about cars?” Allie pulls at some blackened part, then drops the hood, ignoring Will.

“I reckon it just needs a jump start,” she declares. “We’ll roll it to the drive so it’s on a slope, then you have to push and it’ll start.” Will is looking at her dubiously. “Trust me, I’ve done it before.” Around eight years ago, with someone else’s truck, but he doesn’t need to know the fine details.

They push the truck to the top of the drive to the barn, then Allie gets into the cab. She keeps the door open so she can yell instructions at Will.

“We need to go faster!” she puts the truck in gear and twists the key. The engine turns over but doesn’t catch. “Faster!” Instead they’re doing the opposite, and when she looks in the rear-view mirror Will is standing on the drive, hands on his hips as he watches the car roll to a stop. Allie pulls the handbrake.

“You try pushing a truck,” Will protests. “I’m not Popeye!”

The pair look at each other. Allie’s hair sticks to the back of her neck.

“If you sold Jigsaw then you’d be able to afford a new truck – and probably another horse.”

“I’d sell myself before selling Jigsaw,” Allie declares, slightly dramatically. Will looks as though he’s failing to supress a smile.

“Need a hand?” Harry’s drawl makes her jump and she spins, frowning. He’s wearing a white button-down shirt, jeans probably worth more then her truck, sunglasses and loafers, looking every iota the American dream.

“We’re fine, thanks-“

“Yeah, actually – can you help Will push-“

Allie and Will fall silent, looking at each other. Will looks away first.

“He just needs a jump start,” Allie smooths a hand over the back of the truck.

Harry’s rolling his eyes and looking unpersuaded, but he’s stepped up to the back of the truck. “You do realise cars are typically female, don’t you?”

“He carries me around – he’s a man. I don’t have time for your macho bullshit.” Allie stomps to the front of the car and puts it in gear. “Now, push!”

She hears a muttered _yes ma’m_ , ignores it, and frantically twists the key in the ignition as the truck starts moving, her foot flat on the clutch. The engine turns once, twice, then when they’re almost at the end of the drive and Will and Harry have stopped running, it catches. Allie whoops and pats the steering wheel. “Good boy! Atta boy!”

Allie drives for a couple of miles, the windows down. Then she circles back to the barn to pick up Will. He’s sitting on the fence in the driveway, looking at his phone.

“I can’t stop or we’ll have to push again!” Allie crawls past him, clutch down so she doesn’t stall. “You’re going to have to jump in!”

He does – landing in the passenger seat with a laugh. Allie laughs with him, because the whole situation is ridiculous.

“I’m serious though, you’ll need a better car for college – we can have a look when we get back.” She doesn’t want to argue, so just focusses on the road. “Harry went a bit weird when I mentioned you potentially selling Jigsaw to him,” Will’s tone is neutral but his eyes are on her face.

Allie hums. “Let’s go get ice cream.”

*

Allie’s phone rings at precisely 2:39am. She always keeps it on loud, although she has no basis for doing so. It vibrates as it rings, buzzing against the wood of her bedside table.

“Hello?” her voice is low and croaked. There’s nothing but heavy breathing for a while. She pulls the phone away from her ear and squints at the display. “Harry?”

“Allie,” he sounds solemn, half relieved, slightly robotic down the phone.

“Are you okay?”

Silence again, but she can hear his breaths down the phone. Eventually, “uh, not really. Can you – can you come pick me up? Fuck, this is stupid. I can’t drive, and I didn’t know who else to call.”

Harry Bingham never stops breaking her heart. “I’m on my way – text me your location.”

The text comes through five minutes later, and she Google Maps her way there. It’s not an area of town she’s familiar with, and it’s all condos with half stuffed couches in the yard and broken, crumbling porches.

Harry sits on the sidewalk, looking up when he hears her truck. Allie watches as he walks over, swaying a little, and missing the door handle twice. Eventually he climbs in, sitting back in the seat, eyes closed and head lolling against the headrest.

“Are you high right now?”

His grin is a little goofy, and his eyes are glazed when he considers her. “High on life, maybe.”

“What are you doing here, Harry?”

“Just out, meeting friends.” He sounds almost surly, like a small child.

Becca lives a few blocks over from where they are, and Will in the other direction. It’s not where Grizz or Clark or Jason or anyone else she’s ever seen Harry associated with lives.

They sit in silence. Allie wants to snap at him to stop being an asshole. But his dad died barely five months ago and she doesn’t know how she’d react if her dad was gone. The thought makes her throat tight, so she reckons it’s mostly inappropriate for her to dictate how he is in grief.

They pull into the McDonald’s drive through and he wakes up fully, looking at her. His face has lit up like a child faced with all of their Christmas presents. Allie looks straight back.

“You’re paying, Bingham.”

He orders her a strawberry milkshake and only drinks a quarter.

Harry mostly naps once he’s finished his cheeseburger and fries. Allie knows the drive to the barn instinctively, and hums quietly along to the radio as she drives. It’s stuck on some country radio station, but every time she tries to change the channel it turns off in protest.

The truck eases to a halt outside Harry’s front door. When she looks at him, he’s already watching her, pupils blown.

“You know, Pressman, of everyone who’s left me, you’re the only one I miss.”

It disarms her. He gets out and stumble trips inside.

*

Harry calls again a week later, his voice rasping out of his throat.

“Fuck, Pressman – I’ve lost my wallet.”

She goes. She is learning she will always go.

His wallet is in his jacket pocket.

He buys two strawberry milkshakes and still drinks a quarter of hers.

*

The call interrupts a beautiful dream about winning the world cutting championships. Allie glares at the device as she pulls it from under her pillow.

“Harry,” she answers without looking at the caller ID.

“Grizz, actually,” he’s hesitant. “Harry said to call you.”

She’s sitting up, drawing her legs to her chest, pressing her cheek to her knees. “Is he okay?”

“Mostly. Pretty wasted, but what else is new. Can you come get him?”

It takes both of them to lever Harry into the front of her truck. He strokes Grizz’s face twice, calling him pretty.

“Dude,” his voice rolls around the vowels, “Grizz, my man. You are too good for this Earth. I am telling you.”

Allie and Grizz stand on the sidewalk, breathing heavily. Brothers in arms.

“He should be fine once he sleeps it off. He’s puked quite a lot.” It’s always Grizz, looking after people. Rubbing backs and feeding sips of water. He’s looking at Allie with something like sympathy in his eyes. “Sorry for calling you – we usually have a designated driver, but it’s Jason’s birthday today.”

Harry pukes once more in the car, into a green water bucket Allie pulls from the back.

“This is undignified,” he complains, spitting strings of bile. Allie rolls down the windows to alleviate the smell.

She buys him a strawberry milkshake, to get rid of the taste.

“You’ve always been too good for me,” he says as he stares at the milkshake. “Sorry.”

Halfway home he says, “hey, did you know my dad had a second family? Turns out you were right about the whole asshole thing.”

Allie tells him she’s sorry. His eyes have become unfocussed and he shrugs, mumbling, “not your fault,” and retches into the bucket again.

She has to half carry him up the stairs, his arm around her shoulders. He vomits whilst brushing his teeth, then again over the toilet, forehead pressed to the porcelain. Allie rinses out a water glass in his room and sets it full on his bedside table.

The covers are pulled right up under his chin, his eyelashes brushing his cheeks.

She ends up staying, fully clothed and on top of the covers, waking every hour to hold a palm in front of his mouth and nose to ensure he is still breathing. She’s worried about him choking on his own vomit, because they’d once had a lecture about the dangers of drinking at school and that was definitely the number one risk.

Harry’s right. It’s undignified. But mostly for her.

*

Will breaks up with her on a rainy Wednesday morning before school. He brings her a hot chocolate with a mint syrup shot and hands it to her.

“I think we should break up.” Allie doesn’t think it should be a relief, when your first boyfriend breaks up with you, but it is anyway. “We just want different things.”

It’s still sad, but she’d had to pick Harry up last night, so she’s more just tired.

“Okay.” He’s looking at her like he always does, wanting more. “I’m sorry, Will.”

His smile is thin. “Me too.”

He doesn’t sit with them at lunch for the first time in months.

 _“Where’s Will?”_ Sam asks.

“Oh, we broke up.” Becca and Sam both blink at her.

_“I feel this should be bigger news.”_

“Does this have something to do with you picking up Harry from Jason’s the other day?” Becca tilts her head as she looks at her. Inexplicably, Allie wants to cry. Sam looks at Becca sharply. “What? Come on – everyone knows about it.”

Allie puts her head on the table. Sam rubs her shoulder and Becca pats at her hair.

*

Karen goes away to her sisters for the weekend and leaves Harry in charge of the barn. Allie waits until one in the afternoon before marching up the house. All of Harry’s horses are still in their stalls, looking longingly to the paddocks. Allie had provided them with hay and water, but refused to do any more.

She slams up the stairs to his room. The bed is empty, which throws her, until she sees the bathroom light beneath the door. The door is unlocked when she pushes on it – and then she’s moving quickly, Harry a motionless figure on the floor. Her knees hit the tiles and she’s pulling at his shoulder, rolling him over.

He’s only wearing sweatpants and he shudders at her contact, eyes sliding open. There’s no vomit on the floor or in the toilet. She doesn’t know when her life descended to the point that this can be considered a victory.

“Oh, hey Pressman,” his tone is casual, as if he’s on some Sunday jaunt and tipping his hat towards a tenant on his land. His skin is clammy, and his breathing shallow.

“What the fuck.” There are dark smudges under his eyes and his skin is pale, his face drawn. His hair sticks up. Luckily he doesn’t smell of vomit, which is an improvement. “Are you drunk?”

He shrugs a shoulder and tries to push himself up onto his elbows. It takes three attempts, and it’s only successful because she takes pity of his plight and heaves at his shoulders, propping him against the tiled wall. He shudders, his eyes sliding shut.

She’s on her knees and it reminds of when he was kneeling next to her, growling _that fucking horse is going to kill you_.

She wants to say _you’re going to fucking kill yourself._ But she doesn’t, because she’s scared of his response.

Instead she makes him drink water and eat some slices of artisan bread.

“Bread and water? Who do you think I am – a disciple?”

He looks at her then and she doesn’t know what she looks like. Sitting on his bathroom floor with him, back to the wall, half a slice of bread on a plate in her hands. She feels wrecked, spineless.

“I thought you were dead.” Tears sting her eyes but she swallows them back, staring determinedly at the plate in front of her.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” His voice is soft and he touches her elbow, lightly. “Sorry, Allie.”

“Harry...”

“It’s just a really bad hangover, okay? I’m just – things have been weird lately. But I’m getting over myself and from now on it’s going to be fine.” She looks at him then, pale and shaking every so often.

“It doesn’t look fine.”

“It will be.”

Allie pulls herself up from the floor. “You didn’t feed the horses this morning, and they’re still in.”

“I’ll give you fifty bucks if you put them out for me.” Allie looks at him. “Fine, one hundred.” She’s shaking her head but they both know she will. He grins at her, knocking his foot into hers. “You’re the best.”

She’s halfway out the door when he calls her back. “Hey, Allie, can you maybe not mention this to my mom?” Harry is sitting on the floor of his bathroom in just his sweatpants, the plate clutched in his hands. And somehow, she still feels secondary to him. “She’s got a lot going on at the moment. Dad’s life insurance has come through and we aren’t the only beneficiaries, so she’s pretty stressed.”

Allie has a perhaps unhealthy hero worship of Karen Bingham. But she’s closing her eyes and saying, “fine, okay. As long as you sort yourself out,” and Harry’s soft, grateful smile is enough to make her not regret her decision.

*

When two weeks pass and she doesn’t get a single late-night call, the tightness in her chest eases. Her sleep improves, no longer hovering on the edge of consciousness in anticipation.

Harry signs up for the school play and is given the lead opposite Cassandra. Somehow Allie gets roped into being assistant stage manager, although she mostly sits in the audience and plays cards with Becca and Sam. On stage, Cassandra and Harry argue. Both of them catch Allie’s eye separately, Harry pulling faces at Cassandra’s turned back, and Cassie rolling her eyes at his dramatics.

Allie’s painting a set backstage when Harry purposefully jostles her arm. The blue of the sky is suddenly streaked amongst the green of the grass as her paintbrush jerks. He’s so close she can feel his body heat.

“Think you’ve missed a spot there, Pressman.”

She resists splattering his expensive looking sneakers with paint.

*

Cassandra receives her Harvard acceptance letter and her parents breathe out collectively.

They have a Mexican night in celebration. Their mom goes overboard with Mexican themed decorations, even bringing in sombrero’s and a tiny ukulele which she strums tunelessly. Their dad cooks up a feast of nachos, chilli, quesadillas and mojito flavoured cheesecake for dessert.

The sisters make proper mojitos, squeezing lime into glasses and crushing up mint. They’re sharp and delicious and Allie loves her family, as her dad swings wildly at a pinata in the back yard. He misses, hitting the tree instead.

“It’ll be you next,” her mom squeezes her shoulder. From behind her, Cassie raises her eyebrows pointedly.

They all collapse onto the couches and watch Legally Blonde, Allie playing with Cassie’s hair. When their dad tries to protest about them putting Legally Blonde 2 on, they make him an extra strong mojito to shut him up.

It’s past nine the next morning by the time she wakes up. Idly she checks her phone, frowning when she sees she has thirty-three missed calls. They’re from a mixture of Harry, Kelly and an unknown number. Her heart sinks. Harry’s phone goes through to voicemail. She quickly calls Kelly back, dread settling in her stomach.

“Allie,” Kelly sounds solemn and tired. “Hi.”

“I’ve got a bunch of missed calls – everything okay?”

There’s a long silence. “Harry got really wasted last night,” Kelly whispers eventually. “Really, really wasted. So, me and Grizz put him to bed and kept checking on him. Then he was vomiting and we had to call an ambulance and he’s in the ER and his mom is super mad – they’re saying he overdosed, and it wasn’t alcohol.”

Allie wonders whether there will ever be a time where she is not heartbroken by Harry Bingham.

“West Ham ER?”

“Yeah. I’m not sure if you should go though, his mom is really mad.”

Allie goes, because she always does.

Karen is sitting on a chair in the waiting room, her head in her hands. She looks up when Allie walks over, but her face doesn’t change. It reminds Allie of Harry, and the blank expression he can shutter over his face with barely a moment’s notice.

“Did you know?” Karen’s voice is hoarse.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s going to be, apparently. After withdrawal. And with extensive counselling.” She spreads her hands, staring at her fingers. They’re trembling. “How didn’t I notice?”

“He didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Go home, Allie.” Allie doesn’t know whether the devastation shows on her face. Karen softens. “I’m allowed to be angry. It won’t be forever. I’m betting Harry will vouch for you.”

Harry Bingham spends his eighteenth birthday in rehab.

Allie sends a bunch of helium balloons, almost offensive in their technicolour. She uses the ‘congratulations on not falling off’ trophy as a weight to keep them grounded.

She meets up for coffee with Grizz and Kelly. Kelly cries gently, covering her mouth with her hand. She still looks radiant when she does, which is irksome.

“It was awful,” Kelly gasps through her tears. Grizz lays one hand on her shoulder, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Friendship improves happiness and abates misery, by the doubling of our joy and the dividing of our grief.”

It hurts Allie’s head, when Grizz talks in quotes. But she nods anyway and Kelly looks somewhat reassured, her hands curled around her coffee cup.

Sometimes it seems like the whole world is heartbroken by Harry Bingham.

*

“Good morning.” Allie swallows back a shriek as she closes her locker to reveal Harry. He smirks as she flinches away, shocked at his sudden appearance.

“Who authorised your release?” she grouses, because it’s too early in the morning and she hates being taken by surprise. He’s been off school for ten days. She’s counted.

“I had a somewhat quiet birthday,” Allie snorts at this, “and I missed going on a trail ride. Want to do one tonight?” he’s distinctly not looking at her, his tone casual.

She doesn’t point out that birthday trail rides are her tradition. They both know.

“I don’t know,” she twists the lock on her locker, turning to him more fully. “I kind of have a lot of homework. Hemming’s really on my ass.”

He cuts her a look then, flat and unimpressed. Allie thinks she sees uncertainty curling around the edges.

“See you at half five, Pressman.”

*

Karen has been cool with Allie all week, slightly dismissive. She hovers as Harry and Allie saddle Indigo and Fiji. Allie had protested about going on Indigo, but Harry had cut her a short look.

“What – are you expecting me to yell at you from ten feet away?”

Her breath keeps catching behind her ribs. They haven’t done anything like this in almost a year. It annoys Allie how alive it makes her feel. Karen regards them with something like relief as Harry laughs at Allie struggling to persuade Indigo to stand still for her to mount. She insists on taking a photo, Harry and Allie’s knees pressed together.

“How was rehab?”

“It was more of an intensive counsellor led rejuvenating mini break,” Harry says primly. He stands in his stirrups. “Have you stolen my horse again? The saddle feels weird.”

Allie looks at him, because he knows she wouldn’t just let Fiji go to waste with him not around.

“Okay. How was your intensive counsellor led rejuvenating mini break?”

He fidgets with his reins, looking at them. “Fine. I still have to go twice a week.”

Allie wants to say _good_ , but she isn’t his mother. “Kelly and Grizz were pretty worried.”

“Yeah – I’ve sent Kelly flowers. And Grizz some seeds. He loves seeds. It’s a bit weird, actually.”

There’s a pause as Allie ducks under a branch (she pulls it back, letting it bounce so it swats Harry in the face).

“I figure I owe you a lot of milkshakes,” he doesn’t look at her, his tone careful.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

*

Everyday he passes her a different drink. Peach iced tea, his usual order of mocha with extra caramel. Strawberry milkshake, chocolate milkshake, chai latte. Harry hands them over wordlessly, catching her at her locker, in the cafeteria, outside her homeroom.

He asks her to be herdsman for his first warm up competition in April. She agrees, then decides to compete as well. It’s familiar, riding into the ring behind him. Or riding into the ring with him behind her. He’s still withdrawn, quieter. Karen watches him closely. His shoulders tense before he competes and Allie swears she sees him misting the air with lavender oil. Naturally, he denies the accusation.

*

The play has its closing night, and Helena can’t attend. Allie races around, suddenly stage manager. She’s spent the past weeks mostly playing cards, and Becca laughs every time she runs past.

“This is very stressful!” she finds herself whisper shouting to Becca, as someone asks her where a certain prop is, and someone else tries to run lines past her.

As the actors all bow, Cassie calls her on stage. “To the worst stage manager there ever was, Allie Pressman!” There’s polite but confused applause, and the lights are hot and blinding, but Harry grins as he presents her with a bouquet of flowers – all purple and white, and smelling of lavender.

*

Allie places third at her first competition. Then wins her second, and her third. Then she wins her first national competition. The shock is almost enough to make her fall from Jigsaw, her jaw dropping. Harry grins at her across the stable door.

The win comes with a weird ritual of excessive pictures with all sponsors and prominent figures, in front of a backdrop. Jigsaw is uncooperative, pinning his ears and refusing to pose. The only good picture they get is when Harry jumps up and down behind the photographer, brandishing a carrot. Allie’s mom hangs it on the wall when they receive a copy. In it, Allie’s expression is fondly exasperated, looking behind the camera.

Their second national competition is three weeks later in Texas. If she comes in the top two, she qualifies for the US championship. From there, she can qualify for worlds.

The sun’s heat burns the back of her neck and Jigsaw is grouchy. Harry’s hand is on her knee before they enter the arena and it feels like it’s too much, too much, as she looks at her parents lining the railings, at Buck, watching.

Jigsaw takes over.

When the results are announced, she’s pulled off Jigsaw. Crushed into a bone shaking hug by her dad, her mom, Cassie, Buck. Even Karen.

Harry’s leading Jigsaw around, to cool him down. She goes to them, covering her gelding in kisses. On his muzzle, his forehead, flinging her arms around his neck.

“Congratulations, Pressman,” Harry’s eyes are gentle, but his smile is distant.

*

Harry leaves the day after they get back from Texas.

Karen is sitting on the edge of the barn drinking raspberry cordial when Allie pulls up in her truck. Her eyes are red.

Harry’s box is gone from the yard, and Fiji, Ginny and Breeze’s stables are empty. Allie checks the tack room and there are conspicuous gaps on the racks that usually house all of their saddles and bridles.

“He’s gone to travel the show circuit.” Karen is by the door, watching her. “He waited until you qualified for the championship.”

When Allie goes to Jigsaw’s stall, there’s a small trophy adorned with a horse balanced on top of his halter. She runs her fingers over the sharp edges.

*

She gives Harry a cut of all her prize money, as her herdsman. And everyone else. One by one the cheques get returned by post. A member of the training squad calls her, bemused.

“It’s customary to share your prize money with your herdsmen,” Allie explains down the phone, slightly thrown by his call.

“Yeah, like a hundred bucks,” Joe laughs back at her. “Not ten per cent each. That’s madness. You’re the one who won.”

Harry’s prize money has been the basis of her financial standing and enabled her to keep attending competitions.

His cheque gets returned to her, undelivered.


	5. five.

With Harry’s horsebox gone, Allie is limited to local competitions to keep her and Jigsaw’s hand in. Her dad insists that the truck won’t make it out of the state. She eases off training as intensely, instead adding more variation and trail rides throughout the summer. Harry’s left Indigo behind, so Allie finds herself inviting Kelly or Becca or Sam along, teaching them as they go. Becca is a natural, Kelly is still awful but tries hard not to be, and Sam is mediocre. He prefers fussing them and barn chores, and Allie often finds him trying to persuade Jigsaw not to hate him by feeding him mints and dodging his teeth.

Allie takes extra shifts at the diner. Will is awkward around her, over compensating by skirting far around her personal space when they pass in the serving area.

One hot day Sam and Becca meet at the diner and make loose plans to go to a nearby lake once Allie’s shift is over. Will overhears, glancing once on his way past. Allie catches his elbow by the cash register.

“Hey, want to come to the lake with us?” He looks caught off guard, lips parted in question. “We can still be friends, Will. You’re a pretty decent guy.”

Allie drives them in her truck, the windows rolled down. They stop by Sam’s and Allie’s to collect swimsuits, towels and snacks. At Becca’s request she puts the Queen CD into the player, cranking the volume up. Sam places his hands on the speaker to feel the bass. It thrums through the car, rattling Allie’s bones, but she looks in the rear-view mirror, catches Becca’s eye and beams.

At the lake they strip to their swimsuits and jump in. Will lingers on the side, hesitant, until Sam sends tidal wave of water over him by cannonballing in. Allie swims slow, lazy circles, before floating on her back in the water.

Over the other side of the lake she can vaguely see some of the football players from school. They’ve made a swing from a low hanging tree branch and are taking it in turns swinging and jumping into the water.

They eat bags of chips on the side, the flavouring sticking to their still damp fingers. Sam and Becca become involved in an over competitive game of rock paper scissors. Will sits next to Allie, their skin slowly drying in the sun.

“Thanks for inviting me,” his voice is low, sincere.

Allie nudges his shoulder with hers. “Hey, what are friends for.”

Later on, Harry and Sam sit on a rock, Sam’s hands and lips moving as he teaches Will basic phrases in sign language. Will takes to it with the same single-handed determination he approaches everything else in life.

“So are we now adopting your ex-boyfriend?” Becca stretches her legs out on her towel.

“He’s a good guy,” Allie defends.

“Still a bit weird though, don’t you think? You’ve both seen each other’s genitals.”

“Pretty sure I’ve seen your genitals,” Allie looks at Becca, raising her eyebrows. “Besides, Kelly and Harry have stayed friends. It’s the modern way.”

As far as Allie is aware, Becca has had precisely one relationship with a guy named Miles in middle school. It lasted three months and they haven’t spoken since.

“Kelly and Harry remaining friends was due to the fact that Harry was a mess and Kelly felt responsible,” Becca dismisses easily.

Allie looks away, suddenly uncomfortable. There are certain things that she still hasn’t addressed, such as Campbell’s involvement in the whole Harry fiasco. Or the fact that she is pretty sure she was subconsciously aware that Harry was using but determinedly ignored it anyway.

At night, Karen’s face flashes into her mind as she asked _“did you know?”_ whilst sitting in the ER, worrying for her son. Allie doesn’t think she could have honestly responded that she was unaware. That fact shames her.

The other day she found a McDonald’s milkshake cup in her truck and she had to take deep shuddering breaths until her heartrate returned to normal.

One of the curses of being known is that people do not just see your positive projections. They begin to anticipate your thought patterns and moods. When Becca puts an arm around her, Allie wants to throw it off in protest. Instead she relaxes into her friend.

“It’s okay,” Becca soothes, her chest rumbling as she spoke. “Harry’s fucked off to God knows where now anyway, so that’s that.”

It’s the opposite of reassuring, which irritates Allie.

*

Cassandra leaves for college on an overcast day in August.

The day before, Allie annoys her into going on a trail ride on Indigo with her. Cassie still has an ease in the saddle which makes Allie’s breath catch in her throat for a moment. They ride side by side, reminiscing about the horse days.

“God – Harry was such a brat! And you used to push him off the fence _all_ the time. One time mom saw and she was so embarrassed, but Karen talked her out of ripping you a new one.”

“He’s still an absolute brat.”

Cassie is silent for a beat. “I can’t believe he’s turned down Yale.”

Allie looks at her, half surprised. But it makes sense, somehow. It’s not like he could fit three horses in a dorm.

Allie makes cookies and burns them, too distracted watching her mom and Cassie in the back yard. She remembers at the last second, yanks the tray from the oven and stands in the kitchen, staring at the burnt cookies whilst trying to bite back her disappointment.

Cassie still eats them. She lets Allie choose a film to watch and Allie chooses Spirit, purely out of spite. Cassie sighs as the opening credits roll on screen.

“Don’t leave me,” Allie says halfway through the film. Cassie takes one look at her face and goes to retrieve a bottle of wine from the kitchen. Allie drinks the majority of it, then makes Cassie paint her toenails. Their parents come into the living room to find Allie’s head in Cassie’s lap, and Cassie patting at her hair.

“Don’t ask,” Cassie sighs, as Allie sniffs loudly.

Allie’s a little hungover the next day. Her dad fusses around Cassie, checking the pressure in the tyres of her sensible Prius hybrid and ensuring there are no warning lights displayed on the dashboard. Eventually their mom pulls him in, a hand on his back. She says, “Jim,” very softly, and he stills.

Cassie hugs them all individually, and then together. Her parents had offered to drive her, but she’d insisted. Allie’s convinced she’s heading straight from their house to pick up Gordie, but Cassie keeps avoiding the question.

“I love you,” Cassie tells her, right down her ear. “You better call me at least twice a day. I’m counting on it.”

Allie’s holding it together. She’s standing on the drive and waving as Cassie drives carefully away. Then her dad sighs heavily and quotes Winnie the Poo. “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”

Which is approximately when Allie loses it. They go through a pocket size packet of tissues between them.

*

Two weeks before the school semester starts, Karen Bingham informs all boarders and staff that the barn is closing and the farm has been sold. Everyone goes about their business in a robotic, mechanical way. Some boarders move the next day. The barn staff opt to take payment in lieu of working their notice.

The barn empties out in a matter of days. The air falls silent, suddenly devoid of the tens of horses that usually inhabit the space.

On the evening before Allie is due to move Jigsaw, her and Karen go on a trail ride. Allie tries not to panic as she realises that this may be the last time she would have the chance to do so. Her new barn is forty minutes from Karen’s farm, in the opposite direction. It’s super fancy and more expensive, but she hadn’t told her parents about the increase in fees. Just committed to making up the difference with her wage from the diner.

Karen is quiet as they ride. Somewhere behind Olivia shrieks, trotting along on Snowy. The tiny pony is ever patient with his miniature human, maintaining an easy, steady pace. Even when a bird flies from the undergrowth and Jigsaw and Indigo spook, the Shetland keeps plodding on.

After the ride they sit outside the barn and drink raspberry cordial. Karen swaps to red wine after the first glass, considering the empty paddocks in front of her.

“This is everything I ever wanted when I was younger – my own barn, my own horses, two beautiful children.”

“You still have the children and the horses.”

Karen smiles at her, although it’s sad. “They’re definitely better than any barn.”

They have to do two trips to move all three of the horses. Jigsaw is the last one left due to the fact he doesn’t care if he’s left on his own. His hoofbeats echo in the emptiness as she leads him down the aisle.

Karen is doing one last walk around of the house, so Allie takes her time around the barn. There are marks on the walls from Jigsaw’s temper and names of all the horses painted above hooks in the tack room. She takes a picture of Jasper’s name, still visible. Then she takes a video of the empty barn with a quiet running commentary, zooming in on certain marks such as the pink stain where Olivia smashed a bottle of raspberry cordial by running into Karen.

She doesn’t really think too much about it as she sends the video to Harry. She hasn’t heard from him since he’d left, but Karen said he was doing well. Winning a lot of competitions and then training at various barns and ranches in between. He responds almost immediately. _Look after mom for me._

*

They start the new school year in September and it’s disorientating to walk to school without Cassandra. The cafeteria seems cavernous without the familiar sight of the grade above. Allie finds herself scanning the crowds for recognisable faces and finding none.

 _“Stop being dramatic,”_ Sam complains at lunch, as Allie mopes. _“They’re not dead.”_

Teachers start mentioning college and college applications with increasing frequency. One AP English class turns into an impromptu quasi conversion course for Ivy League applications.

Allie gets partnered with Elle for a history project. It’s not her ideal partnership, considering the times she’d tried to draw the girl into conversations when they were younger and her dad trained Cassie. Elle’s recent relationship with Campbell did not endear Allie to her.

Elle is reserved and quiet. They meet in the library to work on their project and Elle brings homemade brownies and hot chocolate.

“Oh my God, these are so good,” Allie has a mouthful of brownie and is pretty sure she’s sprayed crumbs everywhere. “You have to give me the recipe.”

Elle does. It’s printed on A4, with hand drawn diagrams accompanying each step. Becca and Sam are also sat on their table, Becca watching with the same detachment someone may observe a nature documentary with.

“The trick is to melt the butter and half the chocolate together,” Elle informs her gravely, finger tapping step four.

“Is that me with a tray of brownies?” Allie taps the last diagram, vaguely amused. A flush rises high on Elle’s cheeks. She looks away, fingers clenching around her pen.

“I like to draw people,” she murmurs.

“It’s really good. I like it.”

“Yeah – draw me next,” Becca demands, pushing a sheet of paper across the table.

Elle stalls, flustered. “I’m not very good-”

Becca shakes her hair out of her face, posing. “I don’t care. I’m narcissistic enough to enjoy anything based off me.”

Elle draws hesitantly, sketching a faint outline of Becca’s face. It’s ragged and bulky, but distinctly Becca. The brunette presses it between the pages of her notepad, pleased.

 _“Are we adopting another one?”_ Sam asks wryly.

Within weeks, they all have various portraits drawn by Elle. Sam is already familiar with her, having seen her around the house with Campbell.

 _“I always felt sorry for her,”_ he admits one day. _“I suspected Campbell was really mean to her.”_

Whenever Allie tries to ask her about Campbell, Elle clams up and dismisses herself from the conversation. Campbell is out of the state at college. Allie doesn’t think it’s a coincidence that both Elle and Sam are more relaxed with him gone.

*

They go as a Scooby Do characters in a group costume for Halloween. Will and Sam go as Velma and Daphne, and people keep stealing Will’s clear lensed glasses.

“It’s very freeing, being a woman,” he says later in the night, slinging an arm around Becca’s shoulders. There’s a vast height difference between the pair, so she acts more as a crutch.

“Try living as one,” Becca retorts, sipping from her solo cup.

They end up bailing early and in Allie’s living room, still in their costumes. They squabble about what movie to watch. Becca finally wins with Final Destination, despite Sam protesting that it was an insult to the horror movie genre.

Elle sits to one side, slightly withdrawn. Halfway through Allie throws her legs over her, stretching them onto the arm of the couch. She thinks she sees Elle smiling.

*

Cassie surprises her for Thanksgiving by hiding under her bed and grabbing her ankles when she walks in from the barn. Allie is already halfway out of her top and shrieks, the material covering her head. She kicks out and then Cassie’s shouting at her, then Allie’s crying and Cassie has to pull her sweater off her head so they can hug.

“Can you put a top on now?” Cassie implores after five minutes.

“Not yet.”

“Okay.”

*

Allie sits her parents down before Christmas.

“Please don’t say your pregnant,” her mom clutches her water glass, her eyes wide. Allie rolls her eyes.

“No. I’m just – I’m not applying to go to college, this year.” Her dad does not look surprised. Her mom gapes at her for a while. She ploughs on before they can begin any rants. “I don’t know if I want to go yet, and I don’t want to get into ridiculous amounts of debt for no reason-“

“Is this because of horses?” her mom lets out a breath. “Honey, they’re not a valid career choice-“

“I’ve qualified for worlds,” Allie reminds them, and her fingers are curling into her palm, her nails biting into the flesh of her hand. “There’s prize money and in between I can coach or work at various barns.”

“In two years, you’re out of juniors and it’ll be a whole different ballpark. There are people out there with decades of experience, of training and finesse. They have a whole string of horses and you can’t compete with just one and pure stubbornness.”

Allie clenches her jaw and looks at her hands. “I’m still not applying to college.”

“You can always apply later on,” her dad interjects smoothly, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulders. “This doesn’t have to be your final decision.”

“I wish we’d never bought you that damn horse,” her mom mutters angrily, shaking her head. “And those Bingham’s have filled your head with nonsense. That boy is backed by more money then we’ll ever have.”

Later on, her dad comes and sits on her bed. “Your mom and I love you very much, Allie. And we’re extremely proud of you. Whatever you decide to do, I’m sure you’ll succeed at it.” He pats at her legs. “But don’t think this gets you off the hook at school. You still need decent grades.”

*

The new boarding barn is a complete reversal from the Bingham’s farm. It’s immaculate, mostly painted white. The owner does not take a liking to Jigsaw and gasps every time he lashes out at the stable wall, the noise echoing around the barn. The horses are only in the paddocks for a limited amount of time each day.

The other boarders are mostly English riders. They complain at the divots Jigsaw makes in the arena as he slides to a stop. Allie takes to stamping around the arena after she’s ridden with a rake, muttering under her breath.

A boarder approaches her as she works with Jigsaw on the lunge in the arena. Jigsaw swishes his tail, one ear pinned, but circles Allie semi-obediently.

“You need to get his focus on you,” the boarder advises. She’s on the early side of middle aged, and has a plump chestnut mare named Cherry. Allie smiles at her, then refocuses on Jigsaw.

When Allie steps forward the gelding steps away, as she wants him to. One of his ears is now tilted towards the woman on the fence, but he keeps an eye on Allie and moves into a lope. Allie steps in front of his path, maintaining eye contact with him, and he obediently pulls himself up, spinning on his haunches and switching direction.

“He’s all over the place,” the boarder declares, and she starts climbing the fence. “I’ll show you.”

“No,” Allie says firmly, but she’s already stepping towards Jigsaw who’s looking between the two. “We’re fine, thanks.”

The boarder is halfway over the fence. Jigsaw slows to a strut for a trot. Then he pins his ears and snakes his head, yanking at the lunge line. Allie holds firm, reeling him in. He bucks and twists, lunging straight for the boarder who yelps and scrambles back over the fence. Jigsaw bucks for a few more strides, snorting, then slows to a halt and considers the woman.

“Your horse is nuts,” she complains loudly, and then she marches off towards the barn. Allie runs a hand down Jigsaw’s neck and scratches at his wither. He watches the woman storm off with his mis-matched eyes.

“You’re still a little shit,” Allie pulls at his ear and palms him a sugar cube which he takes, his teeth grazing in a warning over his palm.

*

Cassie comes home for her three-week winter break. It’s longer than the few days over Thanksgiving and allows Allie proper time to catch up with her sister. Cassie is full of enthusiasm, of accolades and wisdom.

They bake Christmas cookies, heavily flavoured with cinnamon. Their mom makes all of Cassie’s favourite dishes and keeps touching her eldest – her hair, her chin, her shoulder.

Jason is hosting a party for New Year, and Cassie is easily persuaded to go. She invites Bean and a couple of other of her old friends over to get ready together. Becca, Will and Sam all join Allie, but Elle declines the invitation.

The house is full of teenagers, laughing loudly, music faint in the background. Their mom buzzes around offering chips and slices of pizza and pretending not to see as they all sip beer when she’s not in the room.

“Your parents are so nice,” Will comments almost longingly, which makes Allie’s heart ache.

They all pile into cars and her parents drive them across town. The evening is alive with potential, as Allie slings her arm around Cassie and pulls her in close.

The party is different to others; more nostalgic. There’s more talking at the beginning, small clumps of people who all hug and stand close so they can hear each other. Kelly clings to Allie a little longer than strictly necessary, all wide eyes and sincerity. Grizz even pulls her into a hug. They sit next to each other later on.

“Where’s the boyfriend?” he asks her, sipping from his beer bottle. It takes Allie a moment to think of her boyfriend candidate.

“We broke up in March.”

“Shit, sorry,” he looks abashed. “Is that why he’s not here?”

Will is across the room talking to Becca, Sam and Kelly. Allie points him out to Grizz. “We’re still friends, it’s all cool.”

Grizz looks slightly perplexed, but nods along. “Oh, yeah, that’s good.”

He looks like he’s going to add more, but Kelly joins them, all flailing limbs. She throws an arm around Allie’s shoulders and one around Grizz’s waist, pulling them into her sides.

“Allie! Grizzy! How’s the boyfriend, Grizzle?”

Allie sees Grizz tense in her peripheral vision, his shoulders hunching as if by reflex. He clears his throat slightly. “Good.”

“Excellent! Wonderful! How about you, Als?”

Allie shakes her head, but Kelly is undeterred. “I’m looking for a midnight kiss, so I’ll come find you,” she promises, and her face is very close to Allie’s when she speaks. She kisses her cheek. Allie turns away, grinning.

The whole party counts down midnight at the top of their voices. Kelly is true to her word and presses a closed lipped kiss to Allie’s mouth, smacking loudly when she releases her. Across the room Allie is pretty sure she can see Gordie kiss Cassie on the cheek, and Cassie blushing faintly.

Becca is staring at her. Allie releases Kelly and drags Becca into a hug, and then Sam, too. She litters them all with kisses. “Happy New Year, nerds.”

*

Kelly texts her the day after New Year to meet for coffee. Allie invites her to the barn instead, and borrows Indigo for her. Kelly perches in the saddle looking slightly uncomfortable.

They chat lightly for a while. Then Kelly blurts, “I kissed Will, at New Year.”

Allie looks at her. “Okay.”

“I feel awful – I know he was your boyfriend, and you’re my friend.”

“Oh,” Allie laughs a little. “Really? It’s absolutely fine. Me and Will are just friends.”

Kelly looks at her through her eyelashes. “Are you sure?”

“One hundred per cent.”

“For the record, I’m fine with it if you ever wanted to date Harry.”

Allie laughs at that too.

*

Allie sees Will and Kelly together a week later, as she’s leaving the diner. They’re stood outside, bodies bowed towards each other. Kelly is laughing prettily at something Will’s said and he’s smiling softly at her.

The flash of longing is so intense that it makes her dizzy.

Just for someone to look at her like that, eyes soft. As if she is worthy of attention and consideration; for someone to make the effort to understand the workings of her mind.

*

Elle comes back to school with a black eye. When she’s changing for P.E, there are circular bruises dotted all over her ribs, and a yellowing, older one above her kidneys.

She stops sitting with them at lunch. On the third day, Allie hunts her down in the library with a box of brownies. Elle stares hard at them and doesn’t meet her eye.

“You don’t have to let him do this.” Allie’s voice is low as she leans towards her.

Elle’s eyes flash to her, half surprised. But Sam’s already told Allie that Campbell was back over Christmas, and Will saw them both in the diner once, collecting takeout.

“I fell off my bed and hit my head on the corner of my desk,” the girl whispers fervently. Allie closes her eyes for three seconds. When she opens them, Elle is walking away. She leaves the brownies behind.

“You can’t help everyone,” Becca tries to reassure Allie later, through a mouthful of brownie.

Allie is unconvinced.

They’re still partners for History, so Allie tempts Elle over to watch any film she can find related to the Irish ‘Troubles’. Elle had chosen the topic for their modern history project, as apparently she’d lived there when she was younger.

“I lived with my mom there until they divorced when I was seven, then I moved out here with my dad. He won custody.” Allie can’t decide whether Elle is affected by that fact.

They’re halfway through the film ’71 when Allie realises Elle is sniffling but trying hard not to.

“Sorry – the accents just remind me of my mom.” The girl is stiff as Allie pulls her into a hug, but Allie doesn’t mind. Just rests her chin on Elle’s shoulder and waits for her to relax.

*

Allie invites Becca and Elle over for Valentine’s Day. She meets them at the door with glasses of wine.

“Galentines!” she proclaims, chinking glasses with theirs.

They make pizza because it’s what Allie’s best at. Allie forms hers into a heart shape.

“Why have you made yours look like a butt?” Becca questions from down the counter, before placing an olive in a compromising position on her now-butt pizza. They swap onto raspberry cordial and are halfway through She’s the Man when Elle receives a call. She steps outside the room to take it, her voice muffled by the half open door. Allie pauses the film to try and hear the conversation better.

“I’ve got to go,” the girl won’t meet either of their gaze. They both protest, then Allie insists on wrapping up the remainder of Elle’s pizza for her to take away.

The foil crunches as Allie wraps the still warm slices. “You know you can tell us anything,” her voice is hesitant. “We’re not going to judge you.”

Elle looks at her directly. “There’s nothing to tell.”

When the door shuts, Allie flings herself on the couch, her feet in Becca’s lap.

“What more can you do? You can’t kidnap her.” Becca pats her feet. Allie pretends not to notice as Becca drops a stringy bit of mozzarella on her socks.

Allie looks away, sighing. Mostly because kidnapping has definitely crossed her mind at some point.

*

The package arrives one Saturday morning, the day before Allie’s birthday. It’s huge and covered with FRAGILE in angry red lettering. It takes the whole of Allie’s arm span to shuffle it inside. She figures it’s some interior adjustment her mom is making. Amanda seems to be constantly changing the house, as if it can make up for Cassie’s absence.

When she looks at the label out of idle curiosity, it’s addressed to her.

As she opens it, a small card falls out. But she’s too focussed on the packaging. As she carefully removes layers of bubble wrap, the smooth oak of a picture frame is revealed. When she peels off the last layer, all she can do is stare.

Jigsaw is front and centre, looking idly at the camera. He looks non-plussed rather than actively hateful, but he definitely doesn’t look happy. It’s such an accurate reflection of his essence that she runs her fingers over him.

The wider image is of a lush, green paddock. The smaller figures of Jasper and Jasmine are depicted; Jasper with his head turned towards the camera, and Jasmine grazing. The colours of the painting are bright and it has a mirage-esque quality to it.

Allie thinks she recognises it as the artwork of an artist she follows on Instagram but is too fearful of the price of her work to enquire about.

The white card is small and rectangular. It’s printed with four words in italics.

_Happy birthday, Pressman. – Harry_

*

Karen and Olivia join her for a trail ride for her birthday. They have to load the horses onto the trailer and drive for half an hour to get to an appropriate place, because there are no trails from the new barn.

It’s cold, their breath misting the crisp air with each exhale. When Allie tells Karen she’s getting her trucking permit for her eighteenth birthday Karen looks like she’s supressing a knowing smile.

The Bingham’s now live in a townhouse with a pool in the middle of town. Olivia is six and bumbles along on Snowy, chatting to herself.

They do not address the obvious.

*

“Miss me, Pressman?”

Allie almost drops the plates she’s carrying stacked on her arms, her whole body jerking towards the voice. Harry stands next to the cash register, hair longer than she remembers. It curls around his ears and falls into his eyes. He looks tired, but vaguely content.

“Shit.” Her manager Joyce cuts her a look, relieving her of half of the plates. Allie glances quickly at the clock. There’s still two hours left of her shift. She’s regretting her pink polyester dress uniform and the fact she forwent a shower this morning in favour of an extra twenty minutes in bed.

“You can go early, if you need to,” Joyce is back, looking between them. Allie hesitates for a long second because damnit, she really needs the money.

“It’s okay,” some of the warmth in Harry’s gaze dissipates. “Just thought I’d see if you were around. I’ve got the horses in the lot – I should go get them settled in the barn.”

It feels like she’s missed something but she’s not sure what. “I’ll see you later, Harry. It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Pressman.”

*

It would be a lie if she denied that she’d been keeping tabs on Harry Bingham. He’s a prolific social media poster in order to comply with the sponsorship deals he’s signed. It’s all professional shots on him on horses, lips pressed together. There are more relaxed photos of his new day to day life – people huddled around campfires, Fiji being sprayed by a hose.

There are a few selfies captioned _this one_ of Harry with a leggy brunette. Allie ignores those.

*

She wouldn’t say she’s avoiding him, precisely.

Allie has a busy schedule. She’s in the habit of riding early in the morning before school to avoid the rest of the boarders at the barn, who seem to believe Jigsaw is the devil incarnate. It also means Jigsaw gets more time in the paddock.

She’s picking up every shift possible at the diner. Then there’s all of her schoolwork to contend with. On top of that, Sam and Becca seem determined to cram as many activities as possible into their last year together.

Allie has a rare day off and heads to the barn. She has managed to avoid most of the boarders all week, but the atmosphere when she gets out of her truck is near electric. The boarders are all standing around in small groups, focus on the arena.

Harry is riding Fiji and Allie can’t deny watching surreptitiously as she tacks Jigsaw up. If possible, the pair seem even more in tune. Fiji spins almost idly, Harry barely moving in the saddle. He lopes in easy circles before switching directions quickly, hooves a blur as he spins.

Allie’s neck prickles, everyone’s gaze turning on her as she leads Jigsaw out the barn. Harry draws Fiji to a halt, watching as she mounts.

Fiji falls into step with Jigsaw. Allie’s paint barely flickers an ear, recognising an old acquaintance.

“You’ve caused quite a ruckus.” They both look at the small gathered crowd.

Harry shrugs. “It happens.” Then after a pause, “have you been avoiding me?”

“What? No.” Allie stares at Jigsaw’s neck. “Not everything is about you, Bingham.”

There’s nothing but the soft hoofbeats of the horses as they walk, Jigsaw’s neck lowering as he relaxes. “Did you have a good birthday?”

Allie looks at him, then. Harry’s staring straight ahead. His expression looks like he’s aimed for nonchalance and fallen short. There’s something akin to vulnerability in the set of his jaw.

“I wrote so many texts,” she admits, in a rush. “I was going to call you – I was. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned. I wanted to write to say thank you but I didn’t have an address. I’ve tried to send you cheques.”

Harry finally looks at her. “No need to get emotional, Pressman.”

She smiles smally at him.

*

They’ve both qualified for worlds, and Buck flies in to give them an intensive week’s coaching over Spring break.

It almost unnerves Allie how quickly they fall into a familiar rhythm. Harry’s knee jostling hers, or Jigsaw snapping at Fiji if he’s caught off guard. Every time they train some people from the barn watch. They don’t even hide anymore, instead stand and stare obviously.

“Mom says you’ve got your truck permit.” They’re walking cool down laps, the horses breathing evening out. “You planning on running away as well?”

“I’m undecided.”

“Let me know if you do.”

Allie feels a small stab of guilt as she realises she probably wouldn’t tell him.

*

Allie buys the horsebox on eBay and persuades her dad to drive her to pick it up.

It’s a painfully bright yellow, and the power steering fades twice on the drive home. It has half the mod cons of Harry’s box, and the sides don’t extend to make the living area bigger. But it’s watertight and solid, with a hob and a seating area which turns into a bed.

Harry laughs when she drives it up the drive to the barn and kills the engine.

“That has to be the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. Besides your horse, of course.”

Allie names it Percy.

*

“If you’re going to disappear after graduation, you need an Instagram.” Becca determinedly does not look at Allie as she speaks.

They’ve not discussed anything past graduation apart from in vague terms. Becca’s been accepted into the local community college, and Sam into Gallaudet University in Washington, a college for the deaf and hard of hearing. Will is still waiting to hear back, but Allie is sure of his chances. Elle goes quiet when they speak of college, and Allie thinks the girl has applied to the same as Campbell. It makes dread curl in her stomach.

Allie stares at Becca. She can’t think of anything to say.

“It’s okay, Allie,” Becca says quietly, her hand ghosting over Allie’s shoulder. “But, seriously. You can get advertising revenue from posts, attract sponsors.”

They set up a specialist account. Becca has been following Allie around with a camera for years, and posts a few pictures to start it up. One of them is a black and white shot of Allie with her arms around Jigsaw’s neck, face buried in his mane. Harry is holding the reins, eyes on her back.

Vaguely Allie starts plotting out a route across the US, based on shows with the highest prize money. The world championship is in August and being held in Texas, so she ensures that she builds in provisions and training time. Buck has mentioned offhandedly that he owns a barn in Texas, so she pencils in the two-week period before as potential coaching time.

Harry pulls himself up the steps of her box and stands over her, chewing on an apple. She’s busy cross referencing with all announced show dates, scribbling them in her purpose bought scrapbook.

“You want to focus more on the national shows away from the Southern states,” he advises. “The classes are way bigger down there, and it’s similar prize money everywhere anyway.”

Allie sighs, but makes some amendments. She drops her pen her pen onto the floor and stoops to pick it up, complaining under her breath. She thinks she hears the shutter of a phone camera as she’s ducked under the table, but when she sits back upright Harry is staring out the small window, still chewing on his apple. He leaves the core on the table, just to annoy her.

*

Harry’s horsebox disappears, and so do Ginny, Breeze and Fiji.

It doesn’t shock her. That still doesn’t stop the disappointment from rising.

*

Allie borrows a dress from Cassie for graduation. It’s swelteringly hot under her gown and her cap keeps falling over her forehead. She looks out at the crowd as she walks across the stage and can see her parents, her friends, and Karen and Olivia towards the back, clapping enthusiastically.

Allie’s worked every day at the diner since the day of her last final. Her hands are chapped and red. Sam slips a pot of hand cream into her truck when he thinks she’s not looking.

They sip mojitos in Allie’s back yard, surrounded by greenery. Will flips burgers on the grill. Kelly is over, brushing a hand across Will’s lower back or shoulder. Becca makes herself virgin mojitos and sits in the shade with a thick sweater on, claiming she’s on an alcohol detox.

Allie has set a leaving date of the following Friday. Percy is at the mechanics to ensure he’s ready to clock up thousands of miles. She’s stockpiled hay and horse feed in preparation.

Her new Instagram page is slowly racking up followers. Becca has a joint login and posts pictures constantly. She reassures Allie that it’ll amp up when she hits the road, as long as Allie takes good enough pictures.

“Everyone wants to run away. Bitches love a road trip.”

 _“I want somewhere permanent,”_ Sam dissents. _“A house, a smoking hot boyfriend, maybe a dog or two.”_

“I want to make my mark on the world,” Will announces, and Allie raises her eyebrows at him. He is undeterred. “Although, a house and some dogs sounds good. Maybe somewhere I can own.”

Becca rolls her shoulders back, pulling at her sweater. “We’re eighteen. We should not be romanticising after houses and dogs. Allie, you’ve got the right idea. Escape the madness whilst you still can.”

“I just want to be safe,” Elle looks shocked at herself that she’s said the words. Looks like she wants to snatch them from the air and stuff them back down her throat. Allie leans against her.

“You can always come with me,” she reminds her, quietly, so the others don’t hear. She thinks Becca does anyway. “The offer is always there.”

“You can’t run forever,” Elle whispers, her thumb running over the rim of her glass.

Allie shrugs. “I’m going to try.”

*

It’s Cassie who says, “are you always going to copy what Harry Bingham does?”

She’s sat on Allie’s bed as Allie sorts through the entirety of her closet, packing everything she predicts she’ll need. Allie’s planning on only being away for the summer show season, but the urge to pack for all eventualities is all consuming. She stops herself from packing bras she hasn’t worn in years.

“I’m not copying Harry. I’m just doing what all other equestrians do. There’ll be loads of us doing the show season this year. It’s our last season as juniors.”

She doesn’t quite know when she started including herself in the collective western community.

*

Allie doesn’t have a party. Instead she goes around town to everyone. She hands Becca the keys to her truck. The girl pulls her into a long hug.

“I love you, Allie. Don’t do anything stupid. Also – let me sort your Instagram, because you absolutely suck. Just send me the pictures.”

She gives Will two bottles of raspberry cordial. He speaks more to the bottles than to Allie. “Thank you so much, for this year.” His voice is soft and hesitant. “No, really. It’s been the best year of my life.”

Elle doesn’t come to the door when she knocks.

Sam pulls her into a long hug. She wishes him good luck with college and finding a hot boyfriend. He wishes her luck with getting laid. She pushes at his shoulder, mock offended, but there’s tears in her eyes.

Her parents come to wave her off from the barn. The horsebox is full to the brim. Allie wraps Jigsaw’s legs with specially designed vented boots, so his tendons don’t overheat whilst travelling. He loads into the box like an expert, swinging his quarters so she can click the partition securely into place.

“Hey, wait!” Allie looks up at the yell. Karen jogs out of the barn, Indigo trotting next to her. The mare is wearing a travel sheet and leg wraps. “Room for one more?”

Allie had mentioned offhandedly to Karen weeks ago that she was worried Jigsaw would be lonely, travelling by himself. Horses are meant to be herd animals, not solitary ones.

“You can return her at the end of summer,” Karen loads Indigo up the ramp, tying her firmly. “Besides, she’s used to travelling the country. She can keep Jigsaw in line.”

Allie has to pull over just beyond the drive to compose herself.

*

There is something about driving that is inexplicable. It is the freedom, the potential. She stops every few hours to allow the horses out to stretch their legs and to offer them water. They only travel for a maximum of eight hours a day. In some states they cover miles, in others it seems their flashing dot on Google Maps barely moves.

She pulls over in fields or parks where permitted and constructs pens for the horses out of metal stakes and electric conducting rope. They both soon settle into a routine. When it rains, Allie configures the pens to include the back of the box and leaves the ramp down so they can shelter inside. Jigsaw is used to Indigo and doesn’t bother with her apart from pulling the odd face.

She Googles the best places to go riding in the US and incorporates them as stops in her route. She sends Becca pictures of sunsets and sunrises, of bad sunburn, or when she teaches Indigo to bow.

Shows are easier, with electrical hook up points and proper stables. Her parents cash every prize money cheque into her account, and the amount slowly grows. She meets people she knows more often than she anticipated – people who were on the junior coaching programme, or competitors she or Harry have been against for years. Some even recall Cassie.

Allie is sitting on the steps of the box when her phone rings. “Hello?”

“Have you seen the interview?” Becca demands. “Your DMs are going crazy.”

Allie is peeling an apple with a knife and tossing the skin to Jigsaw. “What interview?”

Becca makes a frustrated noise. “Hang on, I’ll send you a link.” The phone beeps as she hangs up.

Allie clicks on the Youtube link she sends her, intrigued. It’s an interview with Harry Bingham. He’s got one of his sponsor’s caps on, and a grey t-shirt.

“So we’re here with two time cutting World Champion, and two time reining World Champion Harry Bingham,” the interview opens the interview. Harry nods as he’s introduced. “I understand you’re in the run up for your final world championship in the junior category – how are you preparing for that?”

Harry talks vaguely about his training schedule, and how he’s touring the show circuit. “It’s important that the horses enjoy it as much as we do, so Fiji’s having a variety of working on ranches and trail rides to keep him interested,” he concludes.

“Is there anyone in particular we should be watching out for, who may try and unseat you as champion?”

“Allie Pressman,” Harry says her name before the interviewer has even finished the question.

“She’s not one of the previous champions or reserves,” the interviewer is checking their notes, frowning slightly. “We do know that she was an incomer to the coaching programme last year. It’s an unusual move to introduce someone so old to the junior programme.”

Harry shrugs. “If you watch her, she’s immaculate. Jigsaw certainly isn’t much to look at,” here she swears she sees his lips twitching upwards, as if he knows she’s going to watch this, “but he definitely knows his job. I think everyone should benefit from the programme if they’re eligible, no matter what age they’re able to begin competing from.”

The interview continues, with some plugs for his sponsors. The interviewer admires his boots and the camera pans down.

“Just to wrap up: who would you say has inspired you most during your riding career?”

“My mom, Allie and Buck.”

“Your mom, Allie Pressman, and team trainer Buck Johnson?”

“My mom taught me to ride and coached me until I got too big for my boots. Allie Pressman is the most stubborn person you will ever meet, but also taught me a lot about how to interact with horses. And Buck always knows how to tell me to wind my neck in.”

The interview concludes with a short shoddily edited slideshow of Harry in competition. In a couple, Allie and Jigsaw are in the background. Allie scrolls to the comments. Most are exclaiming over how attractive he is, or how sweet some of his answers are. A few are questioning who she is.

Allie rings Becca back. She picks up on the first ring. “God, that interview is just a love letter to you.”

Jigsaw is watching Allie, ears flickering. His blue eye appraises her keenly. If Allie twists her head she can see the portrait Harry sent her, the frame pinned securely to the wall of her box. It’s the last thing she sees when she goes to sleep.

“He says that he’s backing you to win at worlds, and that he considers you one of his biggest inspirations.”

“That’s just how it is, when you grow up together. I’d probably say the same if anyone interviewed me.”

“What, that Harry Bingham is your biggest inspiration?” Becca scoffs.

“He’s really good, Becs. You don’t get to be champion with money alone.”

She’s disbelieving. When they hang up, Allie watches the video four more times. Focuses on Harry’s face when he says her name.

She crops the segment where he says she’s stubborn and posts it on her Instagram with the caption _most stubborn person alive: bingham certified._ He likes it in seconds.

*

Allie’s filling the box with gas and checking on the horses when she sees the dog. It looks like some collie cross type, black and white and blue where the fur mixes. Its coat is short and dirty and it limps on its front paw. It watches her curiously, head tilted.

“Is that dog anyone’s?” Allie asks as she pays.

“He turned up a few weeks ago and no one’s claimed him – we’ve put out a flyer,” here the cashier jerks his thumb towards a sign. The dog is a tiny speck in the picture displayed. “And I posted to Facebook, but no one’s come forward. I leave food out for him, but I can’t catch him.” Allie adds dog kibble to her purchase. The cashier appraises her with new interest. “If you can catch him, then I don’t see why you can’t keep him.”

She’s nothing if she’s not stubborn, so she lets the ramp down so Indigo and Jigsaw have some through air, and then drags a chair out of the box and sits on it, kibble in hand.

The dog approaches slowly, hungrily. It eats the kibble she scatters on the floor. Allie drops each biscuit closer and closer, until eventually it’s just her offering her hand out, kibble on her palm. The dog is hesitant, ears flat to its head, and then its whiskers tickle Allie’s hand and it snatches the kibble before retreating.

Allie doesn’t move except to retrieve more kibble from the bag. On the third time, she starts talking quietly to the dog. It skitters away as she speaks, but it’s stomach wins out. Moving slowly, Allie loops a rope around its neck and pulls it tight. She expects the dog to panic when the rope tightens, but instead it breaths out a sigh of relief and sits down. Cautiously, Allie scratches its head. It leans into her.

Allie ties her to the side of the box and goes to see whether they have any flea shampoo. The cashier doesn’t, but a customer overhears.

“I’ve got flea and lice shampoo for cats, actually. I work at an animal shelter.”

Which is how Allie finds herself putting a pressure washer on the gentlest setting and shampooing a dog with cat shampoo. The dog is exceedingly gentle, licking her hands whenever she’s in range. The coincidental customer helps check her over for injuries. The paw she’s limping on has a big thorn stuck into the pad of her foot. Allie levers it out with a penknife, the customer keeping one hand on the dogs head to stop her from snapping at her.

“I think she’s okay, just a little underweight. You want me to take her to the shelter?” the dog is looking at Allie with wide, brown eyes.

“I think I might keep her, actually. Apparently, she’s been here a couple weeks and they’ve made an appeal and no one’s come forwards. I’ll leave my number with the gas station in case anyone comes forward.”

“She looks like a collie cross, so she’ll need a lot of exercise,” the shelter worker advises. “They’re not always the easiest to find homes for, either.”

Allie dries the dog down with a towel and carries her into the cab of the truck. She sends a picture of the damp dog to Becca. Becca replies _stop adopting things!! I’ve told you!_

Allie stops at an out of town pet shop and buys all the necessary supplies, including a navy leather collar and a multitude of dog toys. She also buys a singular booty, to protect her injured foot, and stop her licking off the manuka honey Allie diligently applies. The workers coo over her, and she laps up the attention, licking at their ankles, her whole body wriggling with joy.

She rides in the cab with Allie and stops trying to climb onto Allie’s lap after the third day of Allie pushing her off. Instead she rests her chin on the window ledge or curls up in the footwell.

“What’s her name?” Cassie asks as they Facetime. The dog interrupts, sticking her head over Allie’s shoulder and licking her ear.

“She’s not got one yet. You can give her one, if you want.”

“I’ll let you know when I think of one.”

Cassie texts her later. _Hestia. Goddess of home and hearth._

Allie tests the name on the dog in a high-pitched voice. Her tail thumps against the floor in response.

*

Often, a programme is released ahead of each competition. It lists competitors and each class they will be appearing in. Allie scans the one for the next show in Ohio, her heart beating quickly as she sees Harry’s name.

They arrive the night before Allie’s first class, after the show has finished for the day. The usual showground buzz has faded to the night time slower pace, comprising of everyone who is competing or staying over.

Allie settles Indigo and Jigsaw in their stables. Indigo is overjoyed to see a fresh bed of straw and stretches out with a contented sigh. Hestia trots behind Allie, sitting in stable doors, or watching her as she carts equipment around.

Once everything is settled, she walks around the showground. Hestia follows her diligently, but Allie holds her leash in her hand anyway.

Allie doesn’t quite believe in chance, but she ends up at an exercise arena where Harry Bingham is riding a large black stallion around. The stallion is tense, and so is Harry. There’s a small crowd gathered, watching.

The stallion is powerful, muscles rippling. His coat flashes blue and black under the dusky sun. Harry is wearing a helmet, from which Allie surmises that the stallion is unpredictable.

She watches for a while, as Harry scratches the stallion’s neck and talks quietly to him. It doesn’t relax the horse. When someone in the crowd sneezes the horse jerks quickly, reactive, kicking his heels and plunging his head down. Harry sits quietly, easily, not reprimanding. His lips are pressed into a thin line.

“You need to breath,” Allie calls out eventually, as the stallion threatens to cause more trouble. Harry glances up, frowning at the interruption. Then his face relaxes and a smile cracks across it, almost blinding in its joy. Allie tries to still her hands on the fence.

“Pressman!” the stallion’s ears flicker at the word and he strikes at the ground. Harry’s smile fades to a frown.

“Turn your toes forward, relax your knees,” Allie encourages. Harry does so, minutely. The stallion is wary, taking a moment to adjust. “Keep your hand low, and now use your calves equally. Speak to him a bit louder, so it doesn’t spook him.” The stallion isn’t cured – he kicks out at Harry and backs up sharply. But Harry persists and eventually persuades him to jog steadily around the arena. Allie salutes as he trots past.

“Nice interview, Bingham,” she tells him, and he grins at her.

She’s eating a mediocre cheeseburger from a food truck when he finds her again. Hestia launches towards him, paws on his thighs, jumping to try and lick his face.

“Woah, Pressman, control your animals,” he’s collapsing into a plastic chair next to her and ruffling the dog’s ears anyway. Hestia alternates between being fussed and begging for a mouthful of burger. “What’s it like, having an animal that doesn’t loath your entire existence?”

Allie rolls her eyes. “She’s not very loyal,” she complains, as Hestia rubs her head against Harry’s knee. “She’d abandon me for anyone who feeds her. Whereas Jigsaw properly hates everyone else, and only gives me little loving nibbles.”

His grin is sharp as he looks up at her. She is wholly unprepared for this version of Harry. All sharp grins and tanned skin. He has freckles across the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, and his arms flex in a way that should be illegal as he fusses her dog. Allie chews the last mouthful of her burger at length.

“Buck’s down tomorrow morning, if you want some training.”

Allie’s staring at him. At Harry Bingham, who’s sacrificed his hard earned prize money under a guise because he knows she won’t accept monetary gifts. Who calls her when he’s drunk and high.

Distantly she can hear herself say, “I have the portrait in the box, if you want to see it.”

He’s smiling crookedly, standing up, and her heart leaps in her chest.

“Have to raincheck, sorry. Me and Jen always have date night on a Friday night. Life just gets in the way otherwise.”

She can’t stop her heart from sinking. Because date night implies some level of commitment, and always implies some permanency. Allie chastises herself, pushes a smile onto her face.

“Yeah, sure, stupid idea.”

Harry looks at her then, suddenly intent. There’s white hairs from Hestia all over his jeans. Then his breath gusts out once and he looks over her. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning then, Al. About half 8? Down in the training ring. Whilst you’re here, I’d appreciate some help with that stallion you saw today.”

“Sure. See you.”

Hestia presses herself against Allie, and they both watch him walk away.

*

The black stallion is called Nighthawk, and Allie decides she doesn’t like his owner.

“He’s not a gaming character,” she protests in a grumble. He’s tall and Allie judges him to be at least part Fresian, his mane and tail containing a slight wave which would make any salon jealous. Allie takes a picture and posts it with the caption _definition of beachy waves_. In the background, Harry is holding the stallion’s lead rope, looking slightly amused.

It’s familiar, as she sits on the railing and watches Harry work. She calls out pointers as she sees them, telling him to adjust his body language or his posture. Horse and man relax into the session, the stallion focussing increasingly upon Harry in the middle of the pen. Finally, Allie gives Harry a boost into the saddle.

“He feels loads better,” Harry appraises, as he draws the reins across the stallion’s neck. Nighthawk arches his neck, stepping across obediently. “You’re like some sort of horse wizard.”

“It’s payback for the years you’ve been nagging me.”

Allie’s still sitting on the railings when a brunette around their age approaches. She looks vaguely familiar, but Allie can’t place her.

“Jen!” Harry is positively beaming at her arrival. Allie tries to ignore anything the smile makes her feel.

“He’s looking much calmer,” the girl comments, appraising the stallion.

“All down to Allie – she has some sort of weird, calming aura. Jen, meet Allie. Allie, meet Jen.”

Jen’s handshake is firm and her fingernails are painted pale pink. She’s eighty percent legs, with shoulder length brunette hair. The sun has tinted some locks a chestnut colour.

“Ah, the infamous Allie,” her green eyes are quick, assessing. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Allie never knows what to say to that, but she smiles. Resists the temptation to say she hasn’t heard a thing about Jen. Probably because her and Harry haven’t spoken properly in almost a year.

“Nice to meet you,” she says instead. “Sorry to run, but I’ve got to go sort the horses.”

“Pressman!” Harry calls as she walks away. “You free at three? I’m a herdsman down.”

Maybe she’s a glutton for punishment, because she agrees without a second thought.

*

Provided it’s a clear night, there’s always a bonfire on the last evening. Most people who have finished competing leave earlier, but everyone who remains all sit together. The crowd is mostly made of everyone old enough to have their truck permit.

Allie recognises Joe from cutting training and sits next to him. He offers her a beer and they drink from the bottle, exchanging stories. He throws a stick for Hestia until she gets tired and starts to limp.

“Everyone’s saying you’re a real contender for worlds,” Joe says. He has blonde hair which has almost been bleached white by the sun, and laughter lines around his eyes.

Allie shakes her head. “You’ve all been doing this for years. I’m a bit of a wildcard.”

Their shoulders are brushing, and he hands her another beer when she finishes hers. Across the fire she can see Harry and Jen. They keep touching each other in that easy, contented way established couples do.

“I think you’re really good,” Joe is looking at her, eyes trained on her face. His seeming honesty unnerves her and she has to look away. “I’ve always thought you were really good.”

She kisses him after four beers. He tastes of beer and lime and a little like she’ll regret this later, but she chases that way.

Someone yells at them to get a room, as Joe’s hand curves under her jacket. They break off, and Joe looks at her. “Want to?”

Harry is looking at her across the fire. She can’t make out his expression. She says yes.

Joe pulls her up, his thumb sweeping over her wrist. “You’re in luck, I’ve just changed my sheets.”

*

The next morning, Harry is sitting on the steps to her box when she returns from Joe’s. He watches her approaching blankly, before standing up to let her past.

“Good night?” his tone is slightly scathing. Allie refuses to be embarrassed as she unlocks the door. Hestia follows her in, pressing against her legs, hopeful for breakfast.

Harry stands in the doorway, watching her.

“Joe’s kind of a dick,” Harry starts, and his tone is abrasive. Which makes her feel defensive.

“He’s always been nice to me.”

“He’s a bit of a player.”

Allie shrugs, busying herself with feeding Hestia. She can feel Harry’s gaze on her.

“Don’t worry, I paid attention during Sex Ed when they brought out the bananas.” He looks away from her, a blush creeping over his cheekbones, under his tan.

“I’m just saying – he won’t be looking for more than this.” Allie shrugs again. “He’s not the relationship type.”

“Women have needs too, Harry,” she snaps eventually, glowering. Something akin to disgust passes over his face and that’s when she flushes hotly, embarrassed and defensive. “Some people do find me attractive.”

His gaze snaps back to her face and he steps forwards. “Allie-”

“I’ll see you at Buck’s, before worlds,” she shoulders past him, as Hestia bolts the last of her kibble and bounds after her.

*

He’s still in the ring when she next competes, and she’s there when he does. They do not talk to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can only thank you for the response to this fic, it has been overwhelming! i am determined to make horse galz out of you all.
> 
> i can only apologise for the background focussed nature of this chapter and promise more action in the next!


	6. six.

August arrives disarmingly quickly. Allie has become used to the oppressive heat of the Texan sun. She’d even been on an actual, proper cattle drive. The career cowboys had been derisive at first, but she’d spent half the third night perfecting a semi-decent lasso throw and half earned their respect. They exchanged numbers at the end and promised they’d keep her updated if there were any other openings.

Allie eases her truck up the driveway to Buck’s barn, navigating the potholes. The barn is rough around the edges; some shingles are missing from the roof, the paint is peeling. Chickens scatter as Hestia and Allie jump down from the cab and Hestia bounds after them, barking.

Buck emerges from a barn as she drops the ramp and unloads Jigsaw with a clatter of hooves on concrete. Jigsaw tries to take a lump out of Buck’s arm as he passes.

“Nice dog,” Hestia sits on Buck’s foot and begs for attention. “Bit friendlier than your steed.”

Jigsaw busies himself with riling up his next-door neighbour. It’s Breeze and she looks at Allie as if to say _can you believe this shit?_

“Bit of a dump, isn’t it?” Harry has never apologised to her and she has never apologised to him. They just start talking again and never acknowledge the past. Sometimes she’s grateful, other times it’s a technique which lacks closure.

Allie looks around the yard. At the greenhouse, which is missing glass panes, sagging to one side. She can still see the red dots of tomatoes on the tangle of vines within. There are weeds growing through gaps in the concrete of the yard. Wildflowers bob in the gentle breeze.

“I like it,” she decides. “It’s lived in. If I ever have my own place, this is how I’d want it.”

Harry looks at her, then across the yard as another truck pulls up. “Oh look, your boyfriend’s here.”

Allie tells Hestia to sit whilst Joe climbs down from the truck.

There’s a cacophony of parents and younger members of the junior squad. Harry gets bullied into providing tours of his truck. Hestia becomes a firm favourite, licking anyone who dares to expose any skin below their knees.

They start training the next day, in three different sessions. Buck also has them going for runs around his farm, and doing weight training. Allie collapses onto the grass after one, her knees giving way.

“I think you’re the only one here pulling off the post exercise glow, Allie,” Joe calls. Allie tries not to blush.

Joe’s truck is much more comfortable than hers.

*

Her parents and Cassie fly down for worlds. Cassie wears a t-shirt with Jigsaw’s face on it, and her parents have American flags painted on their faces. They crowd around her with well wishes and words of advice before Buck shoos them away.

Allie stands in her truck, half dressed. Her fingers curl around the soft cotton of her show shirt but she can’t bring herself to pull it on. Panic makes her limbs tremble, and she’s already thrown up twice. Hestia is at her feet, whining quietly.

“Pressman,” Harry throws the door open. “Buck’s asking where you are.” He must see her then, in her greying, fraying sports bra and jeans, hand frozen on her damn show shirt. He mutters “woah,” and pulls the door shut behind him. He remains on the inside.

She can’t move. She is rooted to the spot, trying to even out her breathing.

“Allie.” She flinches as he reaches out to her, so he drops his hands. Roots in a back pocket instead, pulling out a small brown vial. When it’s unlidded, the scent of lavender fills the air. Allie drops her hand from the show shirt. She looks at him. “Someone once told me it’s soothing,” he shrugs. He steps forward, and sprinkles the vial over her show shirt. “You’re going to be fine. Trust me. Your horse is too spiteful to fuck this up.”

She doesn’t believe that, but she’s pulling on her shirt anyway. Her fingers are clumsy on the buttons. Harry tosses her a packet of mints from the side.

“Have these. Your breath stinks of puke.”

*

Harry has his hand on her knee later, in the chute. Her hand trembles on her reins. Jigsaw is tense, poised.

She tucks her chin to her chest and inhales lavender oil. Closes her eyes.

The gate opens.

*

Allie watches the cows and Harry intently, ready to move should he need her assistance. The audience holds its breath collectively. Fiji is a master, dropping down on his hocks, eyes fixated on whoever Harry chooses.

Harry looks at her, right before he makes his final cut. She nods at him.

*

“I must say, I’m mighty glad Harry convinced me to take you onto the programme,” Buck says to her once the pictures have finished.

Harry won. Allie came third. Joe hasn’t looked at her all evening. When the results were announced Allie flew to Harry, screaming, throwing her arms around his shoulders. He’d picked her up and spun her in a wide circle. When he put her down she stared at him for a long moment before she was engulfed by her parents and Cassie.

The next morning, Cassie pushes Hestia over in the cab and climbs into the passenger’s seat. Jen climbs into the cab of Harry’s truck.

Allie drives.

*

Cassie stays with Allie for a week. Allie tries to convince her to stay longer by driving to the most picturesque places and dragging her on trail rides. Wakes her up inordinately early to watch the sunrise and cooks bacon on a camping stove.

“I can see why you like this,” Cassie tells her. Hestia has fallen asleep on her lap, and they can hear the horses cropping at grass in the background. “But don’t you get lonely?”

Sometimes, the loneliness threatens to overwhelm her. She curls up on her bed with Hestia at her stomach and wants to cry but can’t find the tears.

“No,” she lies. “How can you, with all this?”

Cassie looks unconvinced.

*

Becca has kept a steady stream of posts going on her Instagram. When she comes third at worlds, a few requests for clinics or coaching start to trickle in. Becca arranges a three-day clinic in Texas, specialising in horses with behavioural issues.

Allie feels a lot like an imposter as she arrives. Hestia follows her as she goes into a barn, seeking someone out. The barn owner is a middle-aged woman named Fiona who scrutinises her closely.

“I wouldn’t usually go for someone so young,” she informs Allie, “but Buck recommended you.”

That doesn’t quite ease her nerves.

Fiona brings out the first mare to work on, a dappled grey named Apple. Fiona leads her in a bridle designed for bolshy and strong horses. Fiona keeps her at an arm’s distance, her eyes constantly darting to the mare, assessing.

The woman releases the mare and then starts to climb over the fence.

“Where are you going?” Allie questions, as the mare stares at Allie and Allie stares at her.

“Leaving you to work with her.”

Allie looks at the woman. “She’s your horse.”

“And I’m paying you to cure her.”

“You’ve got to deal with her when I leave.”

Fiona walks back across the round pen.

Allie doesn’t really have a method. She assesses Fiona’s body language, and then the mares. Gets Fiona to lead Apple around. She does so from a distance, ready for the mare to explode. Apple complies when Hestia trots over; she tries to jerk the rope from Fiona’s hands and leaps into the air.

“Okay,” Fiona retrieves Apple’s rope and looks over to Allie warily. “Fiona, go get a helmet and a pair of gloves.”

The woman does so. As she’s buckling on the helmet she says, “I shouldn’t have to wear protective equipment to lead my horse around.”

Allie shrugs. Apple is walking around the round pen, half focussed on Allie and Fiona.

Fiona’s demeanour changes once she’s wearing the hat and gloves. Allie watches them, making small comments.

“Look around you, not at her. Just ignore her. Pretend she’s a small puppy on a lead. Put your shoulders back, chin up. Inhabit the space.” Apple skitters on the end of the rope, ducking her head.

“No – don’t look at her. Look at the house. Ignore her. It doesn’t matter what she’s doing on the end of that rope, as long as you’re walking where you want to go. If she gets too close, put a hand out, push her away sharply.”

Allie rattles the bars when Apple passes and the mare flinches. Fiona keeps marching.

After forty minutes, Allie calls them to a stop. Fiona looks triumphant.

“She’s clever,” Allie appraises. “She thinks you’re nervous of your environment, so she’s trying to take over. Every time you’re nervous, just make yourself big. Make sure she doesn’t get into your space. Besides that, she can do what she wants.”

Allie whistles Hestia over, and although Apple flinches, she doesn’t move.

“We’ll work on the farm tomorrow, in some different scenarios.”

A boarder has filmed some of the session. Fiona sends her the video later on over dinner, having invited Allie in.

“I’m going to be honest,” Fiona tops up Allie’s wine glass. “I was dubious. You’ve hardly got a show record to your name, and you’re practically a baby. But now – I’ll definitely be recommending you. Some of my friends are bringing their horses over tomorrow.” She lays a hand on Hestia’s head, who trembles with joy. “You’ve definitely got the eye for this.”

Allie works with five other combinations. They all make improvements, but she asks them to all come back the next day so they can consolidate.

“You’re way too cheap,” someone comments on the third day. Their horse has an irrational fear of anything which flaps in a breeze. Now they navigate a distinctly homemade course of flapping flags, bunting, and Allie shaking a plastic feed sack.

Becca calls her to debrief. “You’ve gotten some really good reviews on your Facebook site I’ve set up. Oh, and I’ll up your prices. How do you feel about a week just outside Michigan?”

The rest of the summer passes quickly, in a blur of clinics and coaching and shows. Then the shows drop off as fall comes, but the clinics keep going. They move indoors, and she has to buy warmer clothes. Jigsaw and Indigo grow thick, shaggy coats

“Come home.” It’s more of a command, and Allie’s throat closes up. “Come home for Thanksgiving. We miss you.”

“Okay, Becs. Clear my diary. Incoming.”

*

It takes days to drive home. She relishes her last freedom. Taking inordinately long trail rides, or hiking with Hestia. Her parents are waiting at the barn when she pulls up. The barn owner Tina doesn’t look overjoyed that Jigsaw is back.

Allie thinks she sees Karen crying a little into Indigo’s mane.

She’s only been away for five months, but it is still strange to try and fit back into a routine. She calls in at the diner and Joyce adds her back onto the rota. She visits Sam, their hands blurring in eagerness. He asks whether she’s seen Becca yet.

“She’s next on my list,” she promises, and wonders why Sam’s eyes go very wide and he looks almost bashful.

“Hey, bitch,” Allie calls Becca as she stands outside her house. “Guess who’s come to steal her truck back.”

Becca screams down the phone and hangs up. There’s several seconds before the door opens and then she’s there, pulling on a thick jacket. Her gait can only be accurately described as a waddle. Even under her sweater, Allie can see the vast protrusion of her stomach.

“Holy shit,” Allie gapes a little. Becca pulls up, almost shy. Her arms fold across her chest, defensive. “Are you pregnant?!”

“Surprise?” it’s weak, a little nervous. Allie stares at her face, trying to determine the appropriate reaction.

“Oh my God. Okay. Well, congratulations!” Allie hugs her, gently, conscious of the thing in between them. “Please say I’m at least going to be Godmother?”

Becca’s laugh is weak, watery, but mostly relieved. “Of course. I don’t have any other female friends, so you’re it by default.”

“Not a stunning review of my suitability, but I’ll take it. When are you due?”

“Four weeks tomorrow.”

“Girl or boy?”

“I haven’t found out, but girl, I think.”

“And, um, who’s the dad? No judgement.”

There’s a long pause, and Becca looks away from her. She’s biting her lower lip. “Sam. Sam’s the dad.” Allie blinks at her. “Well, there’s wasn’t much to do with you being gone…”

Sam started college in August, as expected.

“Okay,” Allie says eventually, and Becca seems to sigh in relief. “God, this is so exciting.”

Allie invites everyone over for dinner. Will texts to say he can’t make it, but Allie invites Kelly anyway. She brings Grizz with her. He immediately falls in love with Hestia and spends the majority of the evening sitting on the floor to fuss her.

 _“Will’s foster placement has finished,”_ Sam explains. _“So that’s West Ham over for him, unless he rents somewhere to stay.”_

“He’s staying in dorms over Christmas,” Becca adds from across the room. She has her feet in Kelly’s lap, and Kelly’s rubbing at her ankles.

Allie looks at Cassie. Cassie sighs. “No, you ask mom and dad.”

*

Becca’s labour lasts for forty-six hours.

She’s two weeks early, and that fact makes Allie panic when she gets the first call. Cassie reassures her that the baby will be fine. 

There’s way more waiting than Allie expected. Lots of rubbing Becca’s back as she bounces on a yoga ball looking almost demented. Allie feeds her Pringles between each contraction

Becca almost breaks her hand when she squeezes it.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she gasps, face tomato red. She sucks on gas and air with pure determination. “I love you. I can’t imagine doing this without you.”

“I love you too,” Allie strokes Becca’s hair, kisses at her hairline. “Now push you bitch, because this is getting tedious.”

Sam is there for the last twelve hours. They take it in turns to sit with Becca.

Just when Allie thinks Becca or her hand can’t take any more, Eden’s born. She weighs seven pounds two ounces. Becca breaths her name before she’s even settled in her arms.

“Oh,” she says, as her daughter mews quietly. “I’d do it all again in a second.”

Allie texts Becca’s parents, and then everyone else. When she goes into the waiting room Kelly, Grizz and Cassie all look up expectantly.

“A girl,” Allie pronounces, and she really wants to cry. “They’ve called her Eden.”

*

Becca and Eden spend a lot of time at the Pressman residence.

Her dad buys a bottle steriliser and installs it on the kitchen counter. Amanda offers tips to Becca and takes Eden for walks, to give Becca a break. Becca often naps curled up in Allie’s bed.

Sam handles Eden as though he’s in a daze. He can’t hear when she cries and Allie can tell it frustrates him. Instead, he constantly checks on her, a hand laid on her back.

“This is the most loved baby in all the world,” Kelly pronounces, making faces at Eden. Sam goes back to college a week after the birth. Allie doesn’t comment on it. Kelly doesn’t seem to have gone to college at all, and avoids the topic.

Will turns up a week before Christmas, looking hesitant. Allie drags all his bags up to the spare room.

“Honestly, as soon as mom heard you’d be staying at college over Christmas, she was distraught. You’re doing me a favour,” she tells him grandly. She can hear the front door opening and then the familiar tones of Becca as she greets Amanda.

Becca leaves as she always does, late in the evening. Eden is settled in her carry seat. Allie sits with her parents in the living room.

“I’m sorry about taking over the house,” there’s a baby bottle on the side, Hestia stretched out on the rug, and Will’s faint footsteps as he walks around upstairs.

“Oh, honey,” her mom hugs her. “I think I speak for us both when I say we don’t mind at all. You’ve always collected things. Why not carry on with people?”

*

Allie is wholly overwhelmed by the sight that is Harry Bingham holding a baby.

He brings Olivia into the diner, his sister running around wildly. Harry watches her indulgently. Then he spots Becca, and Eden in her arms.

Becca is slightly hesitant as she passes her daughter over, but Harry expertly supports her head. And starts speaking softly at her in baby talk.

“Oh, look at you, twinkle. Look at those hands!” he touches her clasped fist with his fingertip. “Aren’t you the cutest?” Becca looks over to Allie and mouths _what the fuck_.

“I think I was wrong about Harry,” Becca’s face looks slightly pained as she says it. “I don’t think he’s as big of an asshole as he pretends to be.”

Allie is scratching Hestia’s head, idly watching the TV. She can feel Will’s eyes on her. “Oh, he is absolutely an asshole. But sometimes he can do nice things.”

*

Allie leaves again in the Spring, after Spring break. It’s hardest saying goodbye to Becca and Eden. Allie’s parents mention casually that they still want to see their adopted grandchild at least three times a week, and Becca looks relieved.

Apparently this is officially her last year in the junior category. Harry has explained it with a grin. Her age counted as of January the first, so although she turned nineteen in February, she still snuck into the category.

“This feels a lot like cheating, somehow,” Allie complains at him.

“Trust me, don’t rush to become a senior. They’re savage.”

Harry’s entered three competitions so far this year, and only placed in one.

*

Allie focusses on building up her clinics and coaching. She balances her phone on the side of rings and sends the videos to Becca. She also sends a cut of all the profit she makes from the clinics to Becca with the reference _Eden’s allowance._ They don’t speak about it.

Allie wins sponsors. One is an essential oils company. She thinks it makes Harry vaguely jealous. She’s pretty sure he steals bottles from her.

At competitions, Harry often has a horse he’s training for an owner. Allie sits on the fence and criticises him loudly, just to keep his ego in check.

Allie wins three national competitions in a row. The prize money makes her eyes water.

Jigsaw even seems to like her, these days. He watches her closely and only tries to bite her every now and then, to keep her on her toes. Indigo is starting to develop flecks of grey around her eyes and on her muzzle. She still hasn’t slowed down.

*

One day in July, she receives a call from Elle.

“What’s your closest airport?” the girl asks.

Allie meets her in the arrivals lounge. The girl has a split lip, a dark bruise on her cheek, and she winces every time she breaths in. It takes her a minute to climb into the truck cab.

They don’t speak about it. Hestia places her head hesitantly on Elle’s lap, and the girl curls her hands into her fur. It takes a week before Elle agrees to come riding with Allie. She’s a natural, moving with an ease.

“Why didn’t you ever have a horse and compete? Your dad was a coach.”

Elle’s smile is thin. “He drank all of the money. There was none left for me.” Allie doesn’t know what her face looks like, but Elle reassures her. “Oh, it’s okay. I didn’t mind.”

“It’s not okay. You deserve more, Elle.”

*

Elle stays for three weeks. One morning, Allie wakes up and Elle isn’t asleep next to her. She isn’t anywhere around their campsite.

“Where’s Elle?” she asks Hestia. The dog’s tail wags weakly, her head tilting to one side.

Allie notices Elle’s bag has gone. She kicks over a full bucket of grain in frustration.

*

Allie buys a travel crib and nags Becca for two months before she agrees to bring Eden for a mini break.

Becca stands in the living quarters, her daughter over her shoulder. “I don’t know how you can live like this.” Allie’s laundry is on a pulley system, her pants dangling over Becca’s head. Allie has to hit the gas cannister a few times with her palm before a flame agrees to spring to life under the camping stove. Hestia gets under her feet, and Jigsaw constantly threatens to escape.

Becca follows her around with a fancy video camera Allie sent her for her birthday. She makes video montages of a day in the life of Allie Pressman, which gets loads of hits online. Some viral site even gets in contact and asks whether they can use and edit some videos. Becca agrees.

Thankfully it doesn’t rain, which is lucky because Allie isn’t sure Becca would approve when she has to set out buckets to catch the drips.

They hike with Hestia, Eden strapped to Becca’s front.

“I wish you were gay,” Becca sighs one evening, as Allie tries to persuade steak to cook above a fire. Hestia watches hungrily.

“We can be non-lesbian life partners,” Allie promises her.

“I suppose it’ll have to do.”

On the last few days, Becca persuades Harry to do a clinic with Allie.

“Think of the videos,” she implores to Allie. “People soak up a hot male being gentle with animals. I’ll even throw Eden in.”

Eden won’t stop crying, and she keeps flailing her arms in Becca’s face. Becca gets frustrated, huffing at her daughter. It interrupts the clinic.

“I’ll take her,” Harry’s marching across the ring. It takes a few moments to adjust the sling, but then he has one hand on Eden’s head and is straight back to business. Eden quietens, probably mostly in shock. Allie thinks Becca throws her a triumphant look.

The clinic goes surprisingly well. They both sit and watch people, critiquing. Harry focusses more on form and sharpness and competition preparation. Allie centres on body language and relaxation of horse and rider.

Becca posts an excerpt of what she’s filmed to Allie’s Instagram later. It’s a shot of her and Harry standing side by side. Allie is fussing over Eden, and Harry’s smiling at them both. It makes something in Allie’s stomach twitch.

*

“Maybe we should do more clinics together,” Harry proposes. “It seemed to go well.”

Allie concentrates on throwing a stick for Hestia. Becca left a few hours ago, and she’s already aching with loneliness.

“Buck’s offered me a job as a coach for the junior team.” Allie looks at Harry in surprise. He’s not looking at her. “It would mean relocating to Texas. Permanently.”

The panic that Allie feels is selfish. She scans every programme for Harry’s name, and they always end up at the same competitions. He is a life buoy in extremely choppy waters. “That’s an excellent opportunity, Bingham,” her tone is neutral, slightly cool.

“Jen thinks I should take it.” His gaze is intense, trained on her face.

“You should do what makes you happy.”

“The issue with that, Pressman, is that I don’t know what that is.”

*

Harry takes it.

She doesn’t see him at many competitions then, apart from in his capacity as coach. Buck doesn’t let him coach her.

He still acts as herdsman, which Buck studiously ignores. Fiji seems confused by the slower pace in life, eyes focussed on the cows whenever he’s in the ring.

Jen always comes and watches her. She’s always there when Allie is, hand curving over Harry’s bicep or around his waist. Sometimes even under his shirt.

Allie sleeps with Joe infrequently. He’s easy company and never promises her more. He does, however, fling his arm around her shoulders and press a kiss to her lips whenever Jen is around.

*

Allie gets crushed by a wayward cow and breaks her arm and two ribs.

It’s in Texas, so she calls Harry from the hospital.

“Pressman. This better be an emergency.” He sounds vaguely pissed off. Allie closes her eyes. The pain in her ribs flares up her side. She takes shallower breaths.

“I’ve had an altercation with a cow, and now I can’t drive.”

There’s silence down the line. Then rustling, and the sound of a door opening and closing. “Are you okay?”

“Fine – couple of ribs, an arm. Six weeks in a cast and I’ll be grand.” She stares at her feet. “Never mind, actually. I think Joe’s nearby. I’ll give him a call.”

“Where are you?” She doesn’t answer. “Pressman, where the fuck are you?”

She hangs up.

Joe arrives four hours later. He stays with her until she can drive again, which she does after three weeks. Her arm aches as she changes gears, but she can’t cope with Joe any more. He snores inhumanely and his diet consists of beans, sometimes straight out of the can. She starts to resent his presence in a confined space, right down to his breathing pattern and the way he sometimes farts in his sleep.

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” Joe is dubious, brow furrowed. Allie has a clinic organised five hundred miles away. She hates cancelling.

“Right as rain. Thank you for all your help, Joe. I’ll see you around.”

*

She has an uneven tan when the cast gets taken off. Her arm feels slightly weaker, and so she lifts tins of peaches until it feels half normal again.

Harry marches up to her at the next competition they’re both at. Hestia wags her tail as she approaches.

“Don’t you dare do that to me again,” he’s crowding her, so she has to step back. Her back hits the smooth metal of the side of her box. “Don’t you fucking dare.” There’s something in his tone, something ragged. It sounds a lot like worry. Coupled with a lot of anger.

“Or what?”

He’s staring at her, jaw tight. His cheekbones look particularly prominent. “Pressman, I-”

“Harry,” Jen’s hand curves over his shoulder and something shutters over his eyes as he steps away from Allie. “You’re on in half an hour.”

Allie flips him off when he looks over his shoulder to her.

*

“You work too hard,” Joe’s hands dig into her shoulders, into the knots there. Allie sits between his knees as he stands above her.

“Harry’s always telling me I have tense shoulders.” Joe’s hands still at his name, then resume smoothing out the kinks.

“Hey, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

“Probably going home. Why?”

She can feel rather than see him shrug. “I think my mom and sister want to meet the girl I’m always talking about.”

His hand has stilled and she can feel her shoulders getting even tenser.

“Joe…”

He presses a kiss to the back of her neck.

She does not go to his Thanksgiving.

*

Eden is a deadweight in her arms. It surprises Allie how much babies weight.

“Who’s a little chunk, who’s a little chunk,” she burbles at the baby. Eden looks back at her with wide, serious eyes. When Allie puts her down, she starts crawling away.

“She’s an absolute terror,” Allie’s mom informs her, looking at the child softly.

At Christmas, there are more presents under the Pressman’s tree for Eden than there are for anyone else combined. Will is awkward around the baby, which makes Allie laugh. Kelly comes over for Christmas Eve and drags Grizz along. Sam brightens a little at the sight of the dark-haired footballer.

Allie rings Elle ten times but doesn’t get an answer. Sam keeps her updated in small grim snippets.

Cassie carries Eden around and talks to her as though the child comprehends every word she’s saying. When Eden cries, Cassie reads her passages from her latest essay. It succeeds in sending her to sleep within seconds.

“Have you pursued Eden’s dad for child maintenance?” Allie asks. Eden is persistently crawling towards Hestia, who watches her with quiet bemusement.

“Sam’s at college, so there’s no point.”

Allie stares hard at her. Becca stares hard right back. Allie gives in first.

*

“There’s been a fire, up at the farm.” Harry leans over Jigsaw’s stall door, pressing a hand into the gelding’s muzzle as he snaps at him.

“What?”

“My old farm. A fire.”

She looks fully at him. He has dark circles under his eyes and he looks more than a little gutted.

“I’m sorry, Harry.”

He shrugs and steps back. “Like Jen said, it’s just a house, right?”

Allie keeps looking at him. He stares back for a long moment. Then he walks away.

He leaves that afternoon.

*

The farm goes up for auction in the middle of February. Karen rings to tell her.

“It’s got a pretty reasonable guide price, even when you econsider the house and half the barn has basically burnt down.”

For the first time, Allie sits down with printouts of her bank statements. There is a slightly embarrassing amount of money in her account. She’d increased her clinic prices again last year, and had been entering an almost stupid amount of competitions.

She puts on her fanciest clothes and speaks to an agricultural mortgage expert at the bank. The woman she speaks to has horses as well, and recognises Allie from social media. She leaves with a sheet of paper containing a mortgage offer, silently thanking the world for Becca.

Allie tells Becca but no one else. The auction is loud and the room hot despite the cool winter’s day outside. Allie sits on a chair which wobbles when she shifts, the wooden paddle clutched in her hand. It takes two hours before the lot for the farm is announced.

It’s been carved into three parcels. She wants the barn and the house and the paddocks which backed onto the trails. Her paddle flies into the air the moment the auctioneer opens the floor for bids.

There’s a frantic scramble between five interested parties. She’s outbid, by one hundred thousand dollars. Tears sting her eyes and she sinks into her chair, waiting for a gap in the listings so she can leave the room.

“Allie,” it’s her dad, and he’s looking like he’s trying to suppress a wild grin. “It’s yours – Allie, I won it.”

It doesn’t quite process, she’s frowning at him and saying, “what? What do you mean?”

“Well once upon a time we re-mortgaged the house for our beautiful daughter to buy her something she really wanted. Probably about time we levelled the playing field, don’t you think?”

Allie doesn’t stop crying for an hour.

She goes to Karen Bingham’s new house, to tell her. Karen grins at her when Allie asks if she minds.

“Allie,” she sighs, “I told you hoping you would.”

Sometimes Allie thinks people know her far too well.

*

Allie takes her parents, Cassie and Becca to see the farm. As they bump down the familiar driveway her mom gasps dramatically.

One barn has been decimated. The other is a black, smoke charred shell.

The house is in slightly better condition but completely uninhabitable. The smell of smoke is still in the air.

Her dad inspects the whole premises and comes back looking grave. “If I’d known – I never would have gone for this.”

The fencing has all been pulled down in the paddocks. Allie has to construct a paddock for Jigsaw and Indigo out of the metal stakes and electrical tape she carries in the box. The arenas are overgrown with misuse.

Allie works as quickly as she can, obtaining the services of contractors to provide their opinion. The first and second advise that she bulldozes the house and starts again. The third tells her it would be cheaper to start again, but the house could be salvaged. She commissions him to make the structure safe.

The barns are condemned. Allie cries when they get torn down.

Her money runs out at the end of March. She loads Indigo and Jigsaw onto her truck. Becca’s fixed her diary rammed full of clinics and coaching and the highest grossing competitions. But she’s no longer a junior, so she doesn’t know how she’ll fare in the senior category.

She doesn’t do particularly well. Instead she focusses more on acting as herdsmen for people she thinks may win, and coaching people in the warm up.

“Heard you’ve bought my farm,” Harry is still based down in Texas, and with less competitions their paths don’t cross as frequently.

“My farm now,” Allie reminds him. He hums.

“Apparently.”

*

She visits the farm a few times over the summer. There has been little to no progress, with very little funds left for anything else. When she’s there Allie has to live in her box. There’s not even a front door on the house, or a watertight roof.

“I want big, low windows, with a window seat so I can look out over the horses,” Allie leans on Becca as they stand in what is supposed to become the living room. “And I want to open up the kitchen into the study next to it and have a long wooden table with benches so there’s room for everyone.”

“Maybe French doors at the front that open onto a porch,” Becca suggests.

“Oh, definitely. With a swing seat and a rocking chair.” Allie hugs Becca, resting her chin on her shoulder. “Becs, I’ve got to win a shit load of competitions to afford this. I’m barely keeping up with the mortgage payments.”

“It’s okay. We can do this.”

*

Allie comes third at the next national competition. Then third at the one after.

She coaches people in the rings to help keep them calm immediately before they go in. She puts drops of lavender oil on their show shirt lapels to sooth them. Sometimes there’s a crossover with Harry, who is still coaching the juniors. She doesn’t try and poach any of his clients.

They get hired jointly occasionally. Usually by rich kids parents whose kids follow Allie and Harry on Instagram. In the beginning she’d been doubtful about its effectiveness, but Becca runs a tight ship.

“Harry’s asked me to run his social media,” Allie can hear Eden babbling in the background of Becca’s call. “I told him to ask you first. He said no.”

“I’ve got no problem with it, as long as he pays you right.”

Becca hums down the line. “I don’t think there’s an issue with payment, when it comes to Harry Bingham.”

Allie’s teeth grind.

*

It’s a surprisingly sunny October morning when she receives a call from Harry. She has to extract the phone from her jean’s pocket, standing in the stirrups to do so. The phone rings out the first time as she stares at the caller ID in shock.

“What do you want, Bingham?” she snaps down the phone when it rings again. She has to clamp it between her shoulder and chin as Jigsaw swerves at a stray branch.

“Hello, is that Miss Pressman?” the voice is cool and professional. Allie’s heart skips three beats. “This is Nurse Hernandez from Medical City Dallas Hospital. Can you please confirm your date of birth?”

She does so numbly, drawing Jigsaw to a halt. _Please don’t be dead please don’t be dead please don’t be dead._

“Thank you, Miss Pressman. We have Harry Bingham here. He’s been in an accident, and he’s damaged his pelvis which has rendered him unable to drive. Are you able to pick him up following his stay, and assist with his care?”

Allie’s already on Google maps. It’s ten hours away.

“I’ll be there tonight,” she says, already urging Jigsaw to a trot and then a lope.

She packs up camp in record time. Her phone connects to a rudimentary hands-free system which enables to call people as she drives. She calls Karen first.

“Do I need to fly down?” Karen asks, her voice catching. Allie supposes it’s not the first time that she’s received a call that Harry is in hospital.

“I’ll be there this evening so I’ll let you know,” Allie promises her.

Then she calls Cassie, her breath catching in her throat.

“I’ve seen the video,” Cassie informs her. “A horse just went right over backwards on him. Is he okay?”

“I don’t know,” the words are more of a gasp. “What if he’s not?”

“It’s going to be okay, Al.”

She has to park the truck in an out of town Target. She loosens off the horses ropes and gives them water and a short walk before she catches an Uber across town. She bites her thumbnail the whole way over.

Her hands shake as she hands over her ID to the front desk. She’s directed to the correct ward, and then there’s another desk. A nurse overhears her name.

“Allie Pressman? Harry’s just this way.”

He’s lying in the bed, a splash of colour in a sanitary white room. A drip goes into his arm and there’s an oxygen monitor strapped to his other arm. His eyes are closed and his breathing is regular.

“Is he in a coma?” Allie whispers. The nurse laughs at her.

“No, he’s just asleep. His scan results have come back and I think he’s scheduled to head down for surgery first thing in the morning. Visiting hours finish in forty-five minutes, love.”

Harry looks surprisingly peaceful. His arms are above the covers and he doesn’t have any obvious injuries to them.

She touches his hand, and then laces her fingers through his. Relief courses through her, the adrenaline and panic which has been fuelling her all day leaving her limbs.

When she opens her eyes, he’s looking at her. “You look like shit.”

“Driving across state does that to you.” Morphine drips slowly in the IV line. She has the urge to smooth his hair from his forehead. Instead she keeps her fingers laced through his. “Getting a call from Nurse Hernandez was not a highlight of my day.”

“Mmm, Nurse Hernandez. I think she’s the hot one.” She squeezes his hand once and moves to pull away. He clings to her, so she relents. “I’m glad you’re here, Pressman.”

She doesn’t know what to do with that. “Your mom wants to know whether she needs to fly down.”

“I’m okay,” he’s groggy, drowsy. “As long as you’re here.”

“Shall I call Jen?”

His lips flatten into a semi scowl. “She’s not speaking to me at the moment.”

Her thumb sweeps over his wrist. “So she’s finally come to her senses.”

He looks at her blearily. “Yeah, who’d want to be stuck with me?”

Allie rolls her eyes at him. He grins dopily at her. She checks that his horses are safe, and then holds his hand for a further thirty-five minutes as he sleeps, until a nurse comes and kicks her out.

In the Uber back across town, she calls Fiona. She’s done several clinics at the woman’s barn and she’s under an hour away from the hospital. Fiona’s a little confused at the call, but then invites Allie to stay once Allie explains the situation.

When Allie opens up the door to the truck, Hestia lies in the middle of a feather bomb, one sticking to her upper lip. The dog looks at her innocently. The remnants of the pillow are scattered behind her.

It’s gone ten by the time Allie arrives at Fiona and settles the horses. Jigsaw even leans his head into her shoulder, as if understanding the requirement for comfort. Fiona brings her a plate of takeout noodles. They’re lukewarm and slightly congealed, but Allie bolts them down gratefully.

She updates everyone about Harry’s condition. Karen frets over the phone whilst looking up flights. Allie falls asleep whilst talking to Becca, who chatters away about updating all relevant social media.

Harry’s brighter in the morning. He’s still lying flat on his back, and wincing occasionally.

“My pelvis is cracked in half – they said it’s either twelve weeks of lying immobile in a bed for it to fuse, or putting a plate in. Then I can be back on a horse in six months.”

Her hand is on his arm, fingernails dragging across his skin. “Does it hurt?”

“Not too much. The doctors said there’s not many nerve endings in the actual pelvis, so it’s not that bad. I can feel the two halves clicking when they move me though.” He grins at the disgusted face she pulls.

The doctor comes in to do a pre-surgery briefing. Allie stands to go, but Harry keeps hold of her hand. She sits back down.

The doctor runs through the surgery in basic terms, and obtains Harry’s signed consent. She sums up the risks. Allie can’t help but be intimidated, and tries to reassure herself that it’s normal surgical procedure. It does not make potential risk of paralysis any easier to take.

“I’m scared,” Harry whispers when the doctor leaves.

Allie runs her fingers through his hair. “It’s okay. I’ll be here to annoy you when you wake up. I’m sure you’ll still get all the ladies even with wonky legs.”

She feels strangely bereft when they wheel him away for surgery. The nurse advises that surgery is going to be several hours, so Allie goes back to the truck and takes Hestia for a long walk.

When she gets back to the ward, she gets taken into a side room.

“Mrs Pressman,” the doctor begins. “Ultimately, Mr Bingham’s surgery was a success. He is just coming around now. But I do have to tell you that his heart did stop once under anaesthetic. We do not believe there will be any long-term effects from this, as it was momentary. It is just something that may impact any future surgery.”

The thought of his heart stopping on the surgery table makes her want to vomit. Her hands clench around the grocery bag she holds. The doctor pats her on the shoulder on the way past. “I’ll be back later, once Mr Bingham is more coherent.”

Harry’s still asleep when she goes into his room. Allie tips droplets of lavender oil onto his hospital blanket. Becca rings her so she goes to the corner and speaks quickly and quietly, updating her about the surgery.

“Try not to panic, Al,” Becca’s voice is soft. “He’s in the best place. It’s outside of your control now.”

Allie hums. It doesn’t make her stop panicking. “Okay. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Allie pockets her phone.

“Who’s that?” Harry slurs slightly on the words. Allie steps up to him, a grin forming.

“Becca. She’s asking how you are. She says hello and that her and Eden say get better soon.”

“You love her?”

“Yeah, of course, she’s my friend.”

“Am I your friend?” His hair is unwashed and it sticks up in all directions. There are the beginnings of a beard on his chin and cheeks.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

His eyes close and he looks tired and young and in pain. “Do you love me?”

Her breath feels short. “I drove ten hours to get here,” she reminds him. The smile he slants her way is small.

“You’re still my best friend, Pressman.”

Allie thinks of the panic she felt when she got the phone call from the nurse. When she got told his heart stopped on the table. “I know. You’re definitely in my top ten.”

“Am I higher than Joe?”

It’s unexpected. Somewhere along the line he’s taken her hand and it’s curled over his heart, fingers entangled. “You’re higher than Joe. He snores really loudly and eats beans straight out the can. Sometimes with his hands.”

“I am a _very_ quiet sleeper,” Harry informs her gravely. “But you are the worst wriggler in the world.”

Allie sits back, offended. “I am not.”

“You are. You always used to kick me. I used to wake up in that bed clinging to the sides, or bouncing back in off the safety net.” Allie rolls her eyes at the accusations. “I bet you’re a cover stealer, too.”

She definitely is. “I’ve never had any complaints in that regard,” she states primly.

She’s brought him peached ice tea, because it’s his favourite. Using a special straw and with him craning his head, she manages to feed him some sips. He protests loudly when she starts playing Spirit on Netflix on her phone, sharing an earbud with him. Her back and arm aches as she hunches over his bed, holding the phone aloft. He raises a hand to pull at a lock of her hair.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers.

“Well,” she’s emboldened for a minute, staring at the screen. The blue light flickers over her features. “Where else would I be?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost 60,000 words and THEY'VE FINALLY HELD HANDS WHAT EVERYONE CALM DOWN 
> 
> please excuse any typos (of which there are many i have realised) because i barely read over before i post things because i am a mess and writing this between other things that i should actually be doing. one day i shall re-read and edit. maybe the next pandemic


	7. seven.

Allie ends up teaching a week long clinic at Fiona’s whilst Harry remains in hospital, organising the sessions between visiting hours. Buck visits halfway through the week to assure Harry that all his horses are fine, but complains about how much hay they’re eating.

Becca sends cute pictures of Eden in a teeny bear onesie. Sam spams her with memes. Will texts her links to studies carried out on people with pelvic injuries and their chances of a full recovery. She receives a passage by Yeats about human suffering from an unknown number she presumes is Grizz.

Harry becomes more petulant as the week passes. “I have no dignity left. None. Nada. People just march in and I have had students looking where no students should look.”

Allie rolls her eyes. She’s drinking a McDonald’s strawberry milkshake purely out of spite. Harry glares at her from the bed. When she’s finished hers, she pulls another one out the takeout bag like a magician. Harry even gasps at the reveal, holding both hands out. He’s progressed to being able to prop himself up on one elbow and needs less assistance. Allie thinks it’s not ideal that she misses the human contact.

“The physio says a couple more days and I can go home, as long as I’m on bed rest.”

Allie’s seen the x-ray of the plate that’s currently holding him together. Harry doesn’t let her sit in on any of his physio sessions. The walking frame that had been in his room has been replaced by a pair of crutches.

“Well whenever you’re ready, your chauffeur awaits.”

On his last day, Harry makes Allie pick up a ridiculously big quadruple layered chocolate cake from the local bakery for all the nurses and staff. He scrawls in a thank you card and presents it at the front desk. He takes slow, shuffling steps out to an Uber, and takes five minutes to get in. Allie hovers at his door, trying to be useful and mostly failing.

He can’t climb up the steps into the living quarters of his truck. Allie drops the ramp and unloads each horse, tying them to the side. They get some extremely strange looks from Target’s clientele. Harry smooths a palm over Fiji’s face, and the chestnut gelding is exceedingly gentle with him. Then Allie ushers Harry through the horse section. She’s pulled the seats down into the bed formation, found his spare set of sheets in the cupboard, and made it as comfortable as possible. He still complains that she’s coveted his favourite pillow for herself. She doesn’t admit that he’s right.

Allie loads all the horses up again. Driving Harry’s truck is weird; it’s a lot heavier, but smoother. She keeps pressing buttons experimentally.

“Hey!” Harry yells from the back when the aircon is suddenly amped up.

Allie hears him on the phone to his mom. She has to have a break every four hours and finds it stressful to scout out suitable locations to pull over and let five horses off. Hestia alternates between sitting in the cab and trying to climb up next to Harry. Every time she tries to Allie calls her down, but she can see Harry encouraging her back up when he thinks Allie isn’t watching.

At night she constructs a big pen for the horses, and keeps Jigsaw separate. There’s a huge pull out awning on the side of the truck which she enthuses over for far too long.

Harry hands her his pain medication on the second day, face grim. “Can you regulate these for me?” He doesn’t look at her.

Allie keeps him on a strict schedule, making sure she follows the doctor’s instructions to the letter.

Harry sleeps a lot. He also links his phone to the Bluetooth system and plays whatever music he feels like. He complains that he’s bored. It becomes habit to pick up a couple of books every time she’s out picking up supplies. Which is every day, because Harry keeps inventing complex cravings and demanding she fulfils them.

On the fourth day they’re approximately halfway home. Harry is becoming slightly more adept to using his crutches, but he still hisses in pain and takes ten minutes to get out of bed. Allie has to stab him in the thigh with a blood thinner every morning, because he doesn’t have it in him to do it to himself.

When she comes back in from sorting the horses out, he’s sitting up, his top pulled up and sweatpants pushed down to reveal the surgical incision. It looks red and angry.

“Is it supposed to look like that?” she ignores the sharp v of his abs. Definitely does.

“Dunno,” Harry looks annoyed. “I’m not a doctor.”

Allie sighs as she begins rooting through the cupboards. Because Karen is a woman after her own heart, she finally locates the manuka honey in the horse first aid kit. It’s crystallized, but she adds some water and heats the pot gently. Harry smooths it over the wound and drops his shirt.

“I want to wash my hair. I feel really, really gross.”

She’s lent him a bottle of her dry shampoo and he’d been using it diligently. But his hair is sticking out with the build-up of it, and when he runs his fingers through it the locks remain in stiff spikes for hours.

Allie slots a chair into the tiny bathroom, over the excuse for a sink. She has to leave whilst Harry shuffles in, and then climb over him to access the detachable shower head. When she tries to stand next to him in the small space she can’t move her arm without elbowing him in the face. The shower drags over his eyes, then she knocks his chin. He can’t sit up straight, so is slanted in the chair, his legs taking up an inordinate amount of space.

Finally she throws a leg over him in frustration. His hands move to her hips, steadying her.

“Woah, Pressman,” he’s shirtless and has a towel around his shoulders to catch any drips. “I’m on way too many pain meds for this to constitute as consent.”

Allie sprays him in the face. It’s hardly an erotic situation, as she rinses his hair, standing over him. She pulls the towel over his eyes so she doesn’t get soap in them. Her nails graze his scalp as she massages in the shampoo, and she thinks he makes a quiet, contented noise. She’s glad his eyes are covered by the towel because she can feel the heat radiating from his bare chest and when she looks down it’s not the most unpleasant view.

“This water is black. You’re disgusting, Bingham.”

His hands tighten on her hips.

“This is the most action I’ve had in weeks. Maintain the façade, Pressman.”

*

On the fifth day, Harry barely speaks. He doesn’t dominate the sound system with his dubious music choices. Allie’s alarm goes off at 11am and she pulls over at the next appropriate spot so she can hand him his pain medication.

He’s awake, and looks at her with dull eyes. “I want to take all of them.”

She splits the pills into threes and hides them all over the truck, in places he can’t get to on his crutches.

“You should call your counsellor,” she yells from the front when she begins driving again. Hestia lies on his bed, nosing at his chin.

She puts on Queen and screams along to Bohemian Rhapsody.

*

Karen is waiting for them when Allie finally pulls up outside of the Bingham’s fancy house, the truck’s air brakes squealing loudly as they decompress. Hestia clambers into the front and jumps down along with Allie.

Harry’s already struggling upright when Karen opens the living quarters door, surveying her son with a soft look that is equal parts despair and love. “What have you got yourself into this time?”

Harry sends her a vague thumbs up.

Allie has to unload the horses one by one so she can drop the ramp and Harry can creep down one crutched step at a time. Karen hovers at his elbow, but he shrugs her off. Some neighbours come out to investigate, confused at having five horses and an extremely large truck splashed with their neighbour’s name on a residential street.

Jigsaw chooses that moment to take a dump at the bottom of Harry’s driveway. Allie chooses to ignore it.

Harry goes slowly into the house. He doesn’t look back.

Karen does. She takes her elbow and says, “thank you for bringing him home,” and Allie is tempted to say _I always do_ but doesn’t. Just loads up the horses and drives them all to her crumbling, burnt farm. It annoys her that there aren’t any paddocks that are fenced properly, so she still has to construct a make-shift paddock and live with the worry that they’ll escape. She only has a limited amount of temporary fencing, so although there’s acres of fields they’re restrained in a small proportion.

It also annoys her that she’s in Harry’s truck and he only has coffee and earl grey tea. She really wants a camomile one.

She phones Becca and cries down the line.

“What, you’re at home? Why haven’t you come home?”

Allie doesn’t even know where home is anymore – doesn’t know where Becca calls home. “I can’t leave the animals,” she sniffles.

Becca hangs up. Half an hour later, she pulls up in Allie’s old truck. She has two containers of Thai takeout and they eat them on chairs Allie pulls out, watching as the horses mill around, cropping at the grass. Hestia alternates between them hopefully.

“You need to sort your shit out,” Becca tells her unhelpfully. “I’ve cleared your calendar for two weeks. Have a think about what you want to do.”

She wants to curl up in her childhood bed and have her mom or her sister stroke her hair, just like they used to.

“What the fuck am I doing, Becca?” there’s only the concrete base of the barns in front of them, and the house behind it. There’s a few pockets of scaffolding surrounding the house and even from this distance she can see gaps in the roof where tiles have fallen.

“You’ll find a way,” Becca reassures her, finishing the last of the spring rolls because she thinks Allie isn’t looking. “You always find a way.”

Allie wants someone to tell her how she’s supposed to find a way. Because she feels as though she is out of stubbornness or persistence or whatever else she is supposed to find within herself to do more.

When she leaves, Becca makes her promise to visit her parents the next day.

*

Allie checks her bank balance and makes a list of everything that needs doing at the farm. Then breaks it down into subsections with an approximation of the costs of each. It involves extensive Googling because she is essentially clueless, and she ends up with a final figure which makes her feel sick.

She visits her parents. Eden’s there, so she covers the girl in kisses and tickles her. The girl is properly toddling, nearly even running. Allie is in disbelief that she’s almost two. Allie spends half an hour teaching her how to say pony, pointing at a picture in one of her books.

“You’re going to be a little horse rider just like Auntie Allie, hmm?” she tells the girl. Eden knocks over the blocks she’s been playing with, and sticks one into her mouth.

Her mom lends Allie her car, giving Harry’s truck a significant look. “You can’t go around town in that. Think of the gossip!”

She piles all of her dad’s tools into the truck and takes them back to the farm. He has a surprising amount due to a short-lived love affair with home renovation when Allie was thirteen.

She starts first on the arenas. The membranes are all ruched up and weeds grow through the lining. Using marine strength thread and an intimidatingly large needle, she stitches all the gaps in the membrane by hand and then covers them over with sand, ensuring they’re buried. It takes three long days and is back breaking work. Her shoulders ache and her fingers bleed from pushing the needles through the thick material. Once done, she sprays the area with weedkiller, ensuring that the bottle says it is safe for horses and cattle after certain time.

She works on cobbling together a larger, more permanent paddock area by strengthening the electrical tape and posts she already has. She’s kneeling in the dirt trying to persuade the old water trough to work when Karen Bingham pulls up the drive. Hestia keeps bouncing around her, trying to tempt her into throwing a stick. Both the driver and the passenger’s side doors of the car open. Fiji whinnies and trots over to the fence, whickering lowly at the sight of Harry. Hestia abandons ship to greet the new arrivals.

Allie is pretty sure she’s wearing Harry’s old school sweatshirt. She’d never returned it. He definitely notices. It falls down her shoulder and the sleeves cover her hands. She pushes them up as she stands, minorly irritated.

“This isn’t kindergarten.”

“I swear to God Allie, I’m just going to abandon him here. I packed a picnic. He’s driving me insane.” Karen drops a bag on the floor, and then pulls a folding chair from her boot. Then a pillow, which she places on the seat. Harry stands propped on his crutches, looking a mix of annoyed and amused.

“Karen.”

“Allie, I love you, but please keep him entertained for a few hours. Bye!”

Harry is surveying the site. Where the barns used to be. The shell of the house. The arenas, covered in half dead weeds.

“Going well, is it, Pressman?” his tone is cool.

Allie is tempted to throw the wrench in her hand at his head. Instead she kneels back down and keeps fiddling. She’s watched a YouTube video on what to do, but shockingly it doesn’t seem to be enough. Distantly she hears the sound of Harry’s crutches retreating as he goes up the drive.

Ten minutes later, she finally persuades the water trough to fill. Her hair sticks to the back of her neck and she puts her hand in wet mud, which she’s pretty sure is now all over her face.

She finds him standing in what is going to be her kitchen. What was his kitchen. His expression is indecipherable.

“This is a shit show, Pressman.”

“Apparently it’s now structurally sound. Just needs the roof to be patched up, new windows and doors, and re-plastering. And then decorating and furniture, if I get that far.”

“Why don’t you then?”

“Money doesn’t grow on trees, Bingham.”

“I can lend you the money.” His back’s to her and his shoulders are tense.

“I don’t take handouts. Now sit down and stop being an idiot.”

She pulls a chair from his truck and glares at him until he sits down outside the house.

Allie takes a ladder, a hammer and nails, and sheets of tarpaulin up the stairs to the attic. Harry looks up from his phone as she passes. “Who are you, Dexter?”

She only almost falls off the ladder twice as she hammers plastic sheeting over the missing tiles and subsequent leaks in the roof. It’s definitely not the best work, nor a long term solution, but it’s potentially enough to save any of the structural works being damaged by rain.

The aching in her arms and shoulders doesn’t desist, even when she throws herself on the ground next to Harry’s chair and closes her eyes.

“How about I invest, instead? For a certain percentage ownership of the farm. $200,000 for five percent.” He nudges her thigh with the tip of his sneaker.

“Sixty percent.”

“Ten.”

“Fine. Fifty.” When she opens her eyes, he’s smiling at her. “I want to do this myself, Harry.”

“You’re the most frustrating person I’ve ever met,” he informs her brightly. He fishes in the bag Karen dropped off. “Raspberry cordial?”

“God, I thought you’d never ask.” She only complains a little when she has to get up to find two glasses and some water. Harry holds out his glass to chink together. “How’s the war wound?” Allie asks when she’s situated on the floor once more.

“Fine,” he seems to reconsider, “actually, pretty fucking painful. And irritating. And depressing.”

“You did get crushed by a horse.” The video made bile rise in her throat and teeter on the edge of a panic attack. She doesn’t think she’d be able to watch it again. “It’s not forever. Probably got off likely, considering.”

He passes the glass from hand to hand, looks considering. “Not all bad, though. At least I get to annoy you.”

From this angle, she can see up his nose. She finishes her cordial, says, “there’s work to be done,” and leaves him sitting in his chair, watching her.

*

Two weeks after her return, she leaves. She asks whether Karen can look after Fiji, Ginny and Breeze. Then she packs up Harry Bingham’s truck with Jigsaw and Indigo.

Harry calls her. “Pressman, you’ve taken my truck.”

“Mine’s currently in Texas, and I figure you’re not going to be needing it for a while.”

“Where are you going?” it sounds a lot like _when will you be back_.

“North and South Carolina. Maybe Kentucky.”

“Good fried chicken, I hear.”

They don’t do phone calls without purpose. “Is there anything you wanted, Bingham?”

“Just bring back my truck in one piece. It’s expensive.”

He hangs up.

*

She comes home in December.

Harry Bingham’s truck grinds to a juddering halt halfway up the drive. There’s a metallic thud as Jigsaw lashes out in protest. Allie calls Becca.

“Why does my house have doors and a window?”

“Hang on,” Allie can hear Eden in the background. Becca’s voice comes back on the line. “Well, that’s kind of an entry level requirement to constitute as a house, Allie.”

“When I left it did not have windows and doors. I have not paid anyone to install windows and doors. Furthermore, I do not have the money to pay anyone for windows and doors.”

“Did you just say furthermore? You didn’t even go to college. Yes, your house has windows and doors. You don’t have to pay anyone for them. Be grateful.”

Allie hangs up. Her teeth grind.

“Pressman.”

“I don’t take charity.”

“This isn’t charity.”

Allie pulls further down the driveway and kills the engine. Gets out of the cab and tries the front door. It’s locked. When she peers through the window, she can see plaster on the walls. They’re unpainted and the floors are still bare concrete. The layout appears to be exactly how she’d described to Becca.

“It feels a lot like charity.”

“It’s just an advance payment. For you to train my horses all winter until I’m deemed medically fit.” Harry pauses. “And a thank you, for inconveniencing yourself and driving me home.”

The glass of the window is cool beneath her forehead as she leans against it. Takes a deep breath in through her nose.

“This is my farm now, Bingham.”

“I think mom will come and drop mine off tomorrow. There’s a key under the windowsill.” Harry ignores her. “You can say thank you now, if you want.”

Allie hangs up.

Inside things are completed to an extremely rudimentary but liveable standard. There’s a sink and a stove in the kitchen, but they are cheap looking second hand appliances. There’s one bathroom upstairs, a disgusting avocado coloured suite with chunks taken out of the bath. And a bed in one bedroom, with curtains. Someone has put a vase of flowers on the chair which is positioned like a bedside table.

The boiler’s working and the electricity is back on. The walls are bare plaster, waiting for her to make a decision.

Allie buys paint the next day and paints each room. When she gets back from the store, Harry’s horses are in the paddock with hers. She paints the kitchen sage green. The living room is a soft, muted orange. Her room is a dark teal. Hestia brushes her tail across the teal green and Allie has to cut it out with her penknife.

Cassie finds her as she’s painting the smallest bedroom a sea green.

“Oh, that’s Eden’s favourite colour.” Allie looks up from where she’s sitting, diligently cutting the paint into the corners. A look of understanding crosses Cassie’s face. “What, are you setting up an orphanage now?” Allie dips her brush back into the pot. Cassie watches her for five minutes. “Maybe you should speak to him instead of passively aggressively painting every room in a house he’s commissioned people to fix up for you,” Cassie suggests innocently.

Allie blows her hair out of her eyes. “It’s not passive aggressive. It needs doing.”

“Right.” Allie focusses on her brush and the corner of the room. “You know it is kind of a fair trade off. The structure was sound – which you paid for, by the way – so it’s just windows and doors and plastering. Plus, mom said he got a really good price because Clark’s dad is in construction so it was all basically at trade price.”

That cheers her, slightly. “I told him I didn’t need his help.”

“What – you were going to live in his truck all winter? With an empty house, right here?”

“I live in a truck the rest of the year.” Cassie looks at her as though she’s being ridiculous. Allie tries again. “He can’t just throw money at problems and expect them to go away.”

“Except this one did go away – because you now have a house to live in.”

Allie has the urge to push over the paint pot and splash paint everywhere. Instead she settles for throwing her paintbrush into it.

*

Allie burns the first batch of brownies. Completely chars the second. The third are underdone, but she’s not risking it. She cuts the best bits from each batch and wedges them into a horse supplement plastic bucket (thoroughly rinsed, obviously) because she hasn’t got any Tupperware.

Maybe she’s onto something with the horse supplement box. It has a handle and so she can hook it over her arm as she knocks on Karen’s front door. It’s pretty handy.

Olivia answers the door. She’s nine, now, and is definitely Harry Bingham’s sister. She grins when she sees Allie and it looks a lot like her brother.

“MOM! Allie’s here!”

“I brought brownies,” Allie hands them over the girl, who cracks the lid excitedly.

“Allie,” Karen Bingham sweeps into the kitchen with a smile. “Nice to see you. Horses all well?”

“Fine, thanks. All good. Think Fiji’s happy to have a job again.”

“Good, good. And the house…?”

Allie heaves out a sigh. “It’s good. Really good. That’s why I’ve brought these, actually,” Allie nods towards the brownies. “To say thank you. Is Harry in?”

Karen doesn’t meet her eye and busies herself filling the kettle. “He’s out of town today, actually.” The kettle clicks on. “With Jen.”

Allie thinks her heart skips a beat. “Oh, Jen. Okay. Yeah, makes sense.” Karen’s turned back around and Allie thinks there’s something a lot like pity in her gaze. “Well if you could let him know I say thanks.”

“Allie – stay for tea-”

“Bye, Mrs Bingham!”

“Bye, Allie!” Olivia calls from the living room. She comes out to the hallway as Allie pulls her shoes on. “Can I come ride Indigo sometime?”

“Sure – ask your mom and come by. Bye, Liv.”

She escapes.

*

Allie celebrates Christmas with her family at her parent’s house. Will attends, because apparently it’s now tradition. Kelly and Grizz come over the night before for drinks. Sam is back on Christmas break, and spends most of it playing with Eden. Eden keeps demanding he reads her stories, aloud, and his frustration is almost palpable as he does so hesitantly.

“Teach her sign,” Allie tells him in the kitchen.

_“It’s not fair on her – bilingual children are slower to develop,”_ he argues back.

Allie tells Becca, who looks defensive. “She knows some age appropriate sign,” she smooths her hand over her daughter’s head. “I don’t want to overwhelm her – Sam’s only back for college breaks anyway, so.”

“He’s her dad.” At that, Becca looks away. But Allie sees them later on, reading from a book. Sam encourages Eden to sign along, and the girl picks up one correct sign. Becca meets Allie’s eye and pulls a self-deprecating face.

On New Years Eve, Allie’s boiler breaks down with a faint gurgle. She watches a YouTube video on how to fix it. Water starts pouring out of the boiler when she attempts a repair. She manages to shut that off, but then the boiler won’t turn on at all. She buys an electrical heater and starts sleeping on the couch, which is in the warmest room.

When it snows outside and she wakes up three times in the night shivering, she admits defeat and moves into Harry’s truck. It can plug into an electrical hook-up and at least it has heating. She works every shift she can at the diner, but it mostly goes towards mortgage repayments and horse feed. There is something depressing about watching her money being eaten and then coming out the other end.

Allie’s climbing down from Harry’s truck in her work uniform when he says her name. She almost falls off the bottom step but rights herself, spinning around.

“Are you living in my truck?” He’s balancing on his crutches, his brow furrowed.

“What? No. That’s stupid. I was just checking it.”

“Right.”

“Did you want something, Bingham?” Allie checks the time on her phone quickly.

“Olivia wanted to ride Indigo,” looking behind him, Allie can see Olivia, helmet in hand. Karen sits in her car.

“Oh, shit. Of course. I have work now – but her tack’s all in the kitchen. Here,” Allie hands him a spare key off her keyring. “Try not to lose Hestia.” He’s still looking at her, scrutinising. “Well, have fun. I’ll see you later.”

*

The week before her twenty first birthday, her card gets declined whilst she’s buying horse feed. The cashier looks sympathetic as Allie asks her to try it again. Eventually she piles the bags back onto the shelf, and then sits in her car, staring at her steering wheel.

“Pressman.”

“Fifty percent. You can have fifty percent of the farm for an initial investment.”

Allie can almost feel his smirk down the phone. “I’m going no higher than ten percent, Pressman. $250,000 for ten percent.” He takes her silence as assent. “I’ll get Becca to email you over the paperwork.”

The email arrives ten minutes later with the subject line _harry bingham has more money than sense._

Allie prints the documents off at her parent’s house, skims over them, and posts the signed version through the Bingham’s letter box.

The money lands in her bank account the next day, and her breathing eases. She transfers it to a specialist farm account, and arranges for a plumber to attend whilst she’s at work. It’s blissful to walk back into a house that’s warm enough for human occupation. Hestia runs in circles, chasing her tail in all the space she now has in comparison to the truck.

Allie’s bundled in her warmest jacket and standing in the paddock, speaking to a specialist agricultural constructor when Harry pulls up in his black Maserati. The constructor breaks off to stare approvingly at the car.

“Nice wheels,” he calls out, as Harry approaches. Harry raises a hand in acknowledgement. He’s no longer on crutches, but he is slower and more lopsided than usual. Harry waits at a distance, scratching Fiji’s neck and throwing a stick for Hestia as Allie wraps up.

“Thought I’d come check out how my wise investment is going,” he looks around the yard as Allie joins him at the fence.

“I want to build a barn in the middle of the paddocks, like a free range shed rather than individual stalls. To promote a more natural environment for the horses. It can have access to four paddocks off it, in case we need to rotate the grazing and rest parts of land. Then a smaller barn where the old one used to be, which can be half storage and half stalls, in case we have any asshole horses,” she ignores the look he throws her. “And then, where the old bigger barn used to be, a covered arena, so we can do clinics and coaching in the winter.”

“Wow, I wish you’d put more thought into this. What about the house?”

“I thought I’d invest your money to benefit you first and finish all the equestrian parts. I can do the house, bit by bit.”

Harry cuts her a look. “I hope you’ve fixed your boiler.” Because of course he’d noticed. She doesn’t dignify him with an answer, so he changes tact. “How’re my horses?”

Fifteen minutes later she’s exercising Breeze, with Harry leaning on the fence, critiquing her loudly.

*

She opens her bedroom curtains on the morning of her twenty first birthday to be greeted by the obnoxious yellow of her truck, right next to Harry’s. It has a ribbon tied around the steering wheel. She wants to cry when she sees it.

Inside is the portrait of Jigsaw. Allie hangs it pride of place in her living room. Becca, Kelly and Eden all come over with takeout for lunch. Harry turns up halfway through with a bag of marked down Valentines chocolate. Allie isn’t expecting him when she returns from the bathroom, but Becca is looking steadily at her, and he’s already lying on the rug that Allie’s mom bought her, building blocks with Eden.

Becca brings out a wonky cake with candles from the kitchen, and Eden cries when Allie blows them out. Allie relights them, so the girl can help.

“Yum, toddler spit,” Harry comments. Kelly swats at his shoulder.

Her parents take her for a fancy dinner in the French place in town. She drinks her first legal bottle of wine and collapses into bed tipsy, fighting Hestia for the covers.

The next day, Karen and Olivia turn up and insist on going for a trail ride.

“Harry says it’s your tradition, and you can’t break tradition,” Karen informs her solemnly.

“Shouldn’t be long until he’s back on board,” Allie comments as they ride. It’s nice to have company on the trails. Hestia trots along ahead of them, stopping occasionally to sniff at the undergrowth.

“His physio reckons next month. I’ll be glad to get him out of my hair. He’s teaching Olivia bad habits.” Allie thinks Karen is looking at her. “He means well. He didn’t want to overstep your boundaries or trample over things – he asked Becca what you wanted and left the interior all to you.”

“I know,” Allie agrees. She doesn’t know how to accurately put into words how it’s made her feel. It is just a big reminder that she is inferior to Harry Bingham. Who has even managed to charm his way into Becca’s favour, which is definitely saying something because Becca mostly hates straight men. “Jen seems nice, anyway.” The look Karen Bingham gives her seems to be long-suffering.

*

Harry and Jen come to collect takeout from the diner whilst Allie’s on shift. She rings them up.

Jen says, “oh, hi Allie!” and links her arm through Harry’s.

“How’s the farm?” Allie gets the feeling that Harry is walking on eggshells around her. It annoys her.

“Going good. You’re welcome to come and see it. You still got your key?” That second bit is mainly to annoy Jen. Allie maintains an innocent expression.

Harry narrows his eyes at her.

*

Allie goes into the hardware store in town and runs into Clark twice. He asks her out for a drink the first time, and she accepts the second.

They go to a new bar where the music is too loud and the lights are too dim. She has to lean in very closely to understand what’s he’s saying. She realises he’s not exactly saying much, but she laughs anyway.

She overbalances after her third cocktail and bumps into him. She’s pulling away, apologising, when he puts a hand on her chin and pulls her into a kiss.

It’s easy and simple and she doesn’t have to think much.

“I’m leaving town in a few weeks,” she says as she pulls her top back on and calls a cab. There’s none free, so she calls her sister instead. Cassie’s on Spring break at the moment and relishes the chance to get out.

“It’s okay, I get it,” Clark gets up, naked, with a confidence that makes Allie feel shy. “Maybe I’ll see you around, when you get back.”

“Maybe.”

Cassie looks disapproving when Allie gets in the car. “Clark? Really?”

Allie shrugs. “He’s not bad. And he’s nice to look at.”

“What’re you doing, Al?” it’s soft and it annoys her, because Cassie’s not her mom and she doesn’t want to disappoint anyone but feels like she is anyway.

“Having fun, like twenty-one year olds do. Not all of us go to college.”

Cassie cuts her a look.

*

“You’re running away again,” Cassie helps Allie pack everything into her truck. It’s the last day of Spring break, and they’re both leaving tomorrow.

“No,” Allie corrects, “I’m maintaining long standing professional commitments, and going to compete.”

Becca is helping them pack up as well. “I agree, you’re running away again.”

Allie is tempted to throw her hands in the air. “From what? What am I running away from?”

Becca and Cassie share a long look.

“The farm,” Cassie says eventually. “Committing to something long term.”

“I pay the mortgage every month, that’s a pretty big commitment.”

“Not the same,” Becca interjects. “I think you don’t want to commit in case it fails.”

“Well,” says Allie sweetly, “you’re now project manager, so if anything goes wrong, it’s all your fault.”

Becca has drawn up detailed plans of everything that Allie has envisioned, and has access to the farm’s bank account. Allie trusts her more than she trusts herself.

Whilst loadingthe horses, Allie swaps Indigo for Snowy, because Olivia has outgrown the Shetland. Jigsaw casts a look of disgust over the tiny pony as he trots up the ramp.

There’s no one around whilst she locks up the house for the last time, but Harry’s black Maserati does pull up whilst she’s climbing into the cab of her truck. Allie winds the window down.

“Have fun, I’ll probably catch up with you in a month or so.” He’s back riding, and Allie’s kept his horses fit all winter. Between that, the diner and renovations, leaving for the circuit feels a lot like a holiday. “I’ll say bye to Clark for you.”

Allie sticks her finger up at him.

*

Allie listens to Green Light by Lorde on repeat. She tries not to read into the lyrics.

*

Elle joins her in June. She’s been teaching clinics all around the country, and even won two national competitions. The prize money goes straight into the farm’s bank account.

Elle has a broken collarbone, and a myriad of bruises from yellow to bright purple. She stays for three weeks. Jigsaw even warms to her in the end, pressing his muzzle into her palm for more mints.

Hestia adores her, lying across her feet and pressing into her knees.

She leaves during the day, this time. Allie gets back from riding Jigsaw and the truck is empty. Hestia whines when she realises.

“Me and you both, kid.”

*

Becca persuades Harry and Allie to do a joint clinic.

“He’s the one who’s good with people, whereas you’re good with horses,” she tells Allie.

“I’m good with people.”

Becca’s on loudspeaker, as Allie grooms Jigsaw. Harry is in the stall next to her, cleaning it out.

“No you’re not!” he calls.

“I have more friends than you do,” she counters to him.

“I don’t think annoying people into liking you is the best tactic.”

“Harry’s right,” Becca joins in. “You suck with people. Your first impressions are not ideal – you barely smile and you just freakily stare at their horses. Your small talk is the worst. Underneath it you’re a fluffy teddy bear, but Harry definitely has a knack. Especially with rich kids’ parents.”

“That’s because he is a rich kid,” Allie tries not to pout. Harry’s hooking his arms over Jigsaw’s stable door, smirking at her. Jigsaw pulls a face at him.

Allie has to admit, begrudgingly, that Becca is right. They work together well for a clinic. Becca’s even organised microphones so everyone can hear them. The event is far more popular than Allie anticipated, but Becca said it was because Harry Bingham is kind of a big deal and also super hot.

Watching him greeting the audience easily, a cap pulled down to shade his eyes and with an easy, assured smile, she does not disagree with that assessment.

Harry works the audience, and relaxes the riders with easy chatter. Allie interjects with pointers about body language and relaxation. She brings Jigsaw into the ring for a demonstration on how to approach and handle volatile horses.

“Ah, so you’re finally admitting he’s volatile, are you?” Harry smirks at her across the ring. Allie ignores him.

His hand passes over her shoulder as he passes, and their elbows knock together when he stands next to her. He knows when to step in, or when to fall quiet and let Allie make a comment or an adjustment.

Becca sends her reviews from the clinic. One says _Harry Bingham and Allie Pressman are the perfect couple; as in sync with each other as they are with the horse and rider they’re coaching._

Another says _Their dual approaches differ, but adapt to solve any problem individual combinations may present to them. Pressman focusses on persuasion and horse behaviour, whereas Bingham is an expert in ring craft and a fountain of knowledge for the competition season._

And the last says _I had my doubts as to whether a joint coaching session could work, but the pair work seamlessly, never overwhelming. Pressman earths Bingham, and Bingham encourages Pressman to be bolder._

Allie tries not to beam when Harry posts the second to his Instagram, tagging her in the post. The caption: _#dreamteam._

*

Joe has his lips on her neck, then he doesn’t and he’s pulling back and searching for his t-shirt in the gloom. Allie sits up, confused, as he pulls the fabric over his head.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” Allie is silent, slightly stunned at the revelation. “I want more.”

“I don’t think I have any more.” It’s a near whisper; a confession.

“I think we all know why that is, Allie.” He presses his lips to her cheek, like someone would do to an elderly aunt.

Allie wants to scream at him, demand he tells her why. Instead she gathers her clothes and leaves.

*

Buck invites her down to his farm to assist Harry in the preparation of the junior squad for worlds. It makes Allie feel extremely old.

“Whilst you’re here, I’ve got a mare you might like,” Buck avoids Jigsaw as the gelding snaps at him. Hestia has already abandoned Allie in favour of all the younger members of the team, who lavish her with attention.

Buck takes Allie to a round pen around the back of the barns. A buckskin mare is in the middle. Allie can see from a distance that she’s trembling. There’s still a circular sticky mark on her quarters from where the auction sticker was pressed onto her coat.

“She was going to go for meat, but I think she’s got a good eye and she seems a decent sort. They said she’s around five.”

Every spare minute, Allie sits in the pen with her. The mare becomes curious and relaxes in her presence, moving closer everyday. By the second day, Allie can run her hands over the mares head and neck. By the third, over her limbs and through her tail.

“I told Buck you’d like her.” Harry’s climbed the fence and sits on the rail, looking proud that he now feels strong enough to do so. “What’re you going to call her?”

“I haven’t said I’ll have her yet.”

Harry levels her with a steady look. “What’re you going to call her? Please not Spirit just because she’s the same colour.”

“I thought Esprit.”

“What does that mean?”

“Spirit. But in French.”

He laughs at her. Allie grins back at him. The mare pushes her muzzle into the crook of her elbow.

“Weird isn’t it, that this was us a few years ago?” Allie muses over lunch. Harry brings her food and they sit on top of the railings of the round pen, or on the grass outside. The days have a lazy feel to them, and Allie is mostly unaffected by the buzz of nerves that exude from the junior team. Harry is more invested, due to it being his mostly full-time job.

He’s familiar with them, easy natured. Easier going than Buck, but with an eye just as keen. Allie watches some of his solo sessions out of curiosity. She’s not sure whether it’s her imagination, but he shoots her a few looks that are even bashful.

At the end, he comes and leans against the fence next to her. The kids are milling around on their cool down lap. “What do you think?” he asks.

“Of what?”

“Me. This.”

“Is the great Harry Bingham asking me what I think? Don’t you have enough reviews on your website to keep you warm?”

“I care about what you think,” he looks directly at her when he says it, which unnerves her.

“I think you’re doing well,” she says honestly. “The kids engage with you but don’t challenge you too much, considering the lack of age gap.”

Harry nods, looks across the arena. “Buck’s asked whether I want to extend my contract longer than next summer.” It brings a lump to Allie’s throat. Harry being in West Ham over this winter was just due to his injury, but she’d gotten used to him being there. “Not sure there’s much reason in saying no.”

“There’s always the farm. Our farm.”

Harry slants her a look, from the corner of his eye. She thinks he’s smiling faintly. “There’s always that.”

*

Her favourite kid wins at worlds – a thirteen-year-old named Kiara. Allie can’t stop grinning during the awards presentation, and her hands hurt from clapping. Buck, her and Harry end up in Harry’s truck drinking whiskey. It hits Allie very hard.

She goes to the bathroom, and when she comes out, Buck’s gone. She stands, swaying slightly.

“Did I pee too loudly and scare him off?” she asks Harry. He looks at her, amused.

He’s sitting on the couch area reading a book. Allie collapses next to him, watching. There are freckles across his nose and cheeks, slightly uneven because he insists on pulling a cap low over his eyes so he doesn’t get wrinkles. His hair is longer than he used to have it in school, so he has to shake it from his vision when it falls forwards. It curls at the tips. Allie wants to put her hand in it. There’s a small silver scar on his forehead from where he caught it on a gate latch when he was younger, and his tongue sometimes catches between his teeth as he concentrates.

His eyes scan the page quickly, and his brow creases as he reads the lines. He must feel her gaze on him because he looks up, self-conscious. “What?”

Allie takes the book out of his hands and kisses him. He doesn’t kiss back. She pulls away quickly.

“I’m very drunk,” she tells the room.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I think I should go back to mine, now.”

“I’ll walk you back.”

He doesn’t speak to her on the walk home, apart from to call Hestia to heel. Allie gets into bed and she wants to cry but can't find the tears.

When she wakes up the next morning, he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, not sorry


	8. eight.

*

At all the shows and competitions Allie goes to, there are invariably some rustic hand sculpted or carved, potentially overpriced furniture. With her prize money, Allie starts buying pieces and arranging for delivery to the farm. Big oak chests for storage, a bed made out of repurposed driftwood. She even goes crazy and buys a wine rack made out of a tree trunk, although she never has wine around long enough to worry about storage.

Becca rings her after the tenth delivery. “I feel like you’re compensating for something.”

“Has Eden’s bed arrived yet? And there should be a super cute wooden farm set coming this week.” Allie mainly says it to derail her friend’s likely pre-prepared rant. It works, because Becca starts sniffling.

“Why would you buy her a bed?”

“Isn’t that what non-lesbian life partners are for? Obviously you’re going to live with me.” The sniffling gets louder. “Only if you want to,” she tacks on at the end, uncertainly.

“I hate you.” Becca’s voice is thick.

A week later, Becca sends her a picture of Eden playing with the wooden farm animals. Allie had added extra horses to the package. She posts it to her Instagram with the caption _family_. Harry likes it within seconds, which makes her heart lurch uncomfortably.

Idly, she scrolls onto his Instagram. Allie knows Becca manages his account, and she can barely tell what he actually posts and what Becca does as marketing. For once, she curses her friend’s seamless talent.

The post of them about the clinic they did together is still up, with the same caption. Allie locks her phone and throws it onto the bed. Fate definitely has a warped sense of humour.

*

Allie wins two national cutting competitions in a row. Harry wins four barrel racing competitions.

They do not talk, but if their paths overlap he’s always in the chute behind her, Fiji’s nose nudging at her knee.

Jen stops touching Harry every time Allie’s near, which is somehow worse than her being all over him.

*

Esprit is easy, gentle. She reminds Allie a little of Jasmine, but less skittish. She’s also the first horse Allie has properly backed, by herself. She takes her time, making sure the mare is used to all variety of terrain and commands. Leans across the saddle for days until she gets up the nerve to sit up straight.

It’s almost anticlimactic. Esprit flicks her ears, turns her head curiously to nudge as Allie’s knee. Allie feeds her a slice of apple and climbs slowly down.

She’s riding Jigsaw around a secluded exercise ring at a competition when she notices Harry stepping up to the fence. Hestia, who’d been napping in the sun, races to greet him.

“Why aren’t you ever as pleased to see me as your dog is?” he asks, as he buries his hands in Hestia’s coat.

Allie looks away from him, a faint blush rising on her cheeks. An awkward silence descends. The meaning of his words seems to catch up with him and he looks annoyed, for a moment. It’s the first time he’s spoken to her outside of the competition ring.

His resolve seems to strengthen and he straightens up. A blank expression shutters itself over his face. “I’m listed for barrels the same time as you’re cutting tomorrow, so you may have to find yourself a new herdsman.”

“That’s okay. I can fend for myself.”

His blank expression doesn’t even flicker. “I don’t doubt that for a second, Pressman.”

*

Allie is sitting on Jigsaw at the top of a very large hill, watching the sun rise. She calls Cassie as she rides back down.

Cassie picks up despite it being ridiculously early. “What?” her voice is croaky, hoarse.

“I’m not sure I want to do this anymore.”

Allie’s supposed to be on a clinic with Harry this week, following the success of their last one. Becca told her two days before she was due to attend that Harry was now doing it with Jen. Allie had already travelled to Kentucky, and is now attempting to make the most of her free time.

“Maybe you need a more permanent base,” Cassie suggests. Her words are slightly muffled, like she’s pressing her face into her pillow. Allie flicks Jigsaw’s reins.

“Maybe.”

“Or maybe you need something else that’s permanent, like a relationship.”

Allie sucks a breath in. Holds it for three beats. “I kissed Harry.”

“What?” Cassie’s voice is suddenly louder, and clearer. “What? When?”

“About six weeks ago.”

“Oh my God.”

“He didn’t kiss me back.”

“Oh,” there’s a pause. Cassie’s voice is small. “Oh, Allie.” It’s in a tone which wrenches at Allie’s gut.

“And now he’s cancelled a clinic we were supposed to be doing and is doing it with his girlfriend.”

“Allie…”

“I wouldn’t mind too much but objectively, she really sucks at coaching. And one time I saw her trying to hit Jigsaw because he went to bite her.”

“I mean, it is kind of rude when he does that.”

“He’s just defensive because of past trauma! How can she solve behavioural issues if her reaction is to hit them?”

“Have you tried talking to him?”

“How about he tries talking to me? I’m the one who kissed him, and he’s the one with the issue with it.”

Cassie makes what Allie thinks is a frustrated noise. “You are both absolutely, completely impossible. Also, he has a girlfriend, so that’s kind of a dick move on your part.”

“I was drunk!” Allie throws her head back, staring at the sky. “I knew I should have rung Becca.”

“She’ll say the same.”

“Then I hate you both!”

Allie hangs up, but it doesn’t feel like a victory. An hour later she texts Cassie _love you really_ and Cassie replies with an eyeroll and heart emoji. She still doesn’t feel better.

*

Running has never been her forte, so instead she goes hiking with Hestia. The dog bounds ahead with endless energy, tail streaming behind her. When they come across a stream the dog flops into the cool water gratefully, and then shakes all over Allie. Allie wraps her hand in her t-shirt and picks some nettles, because they’re Jigsaw’s favourite.

The first call comes whilst she’s singing along to Hozier and trying to entice some chicken and vegetable kebabs into cooking above a fire. The second one rings out because she’s too busy staring at her phone in slight disbelief.

She answers the third call. “Pressman,” it sounds a lot like relief. “Do you ever answer your fucking phone?”

It’s not the friendliest of openers, and his voice is sliding around the vowels in a familiar way.

Allie says “are you drunk?” at the same time as Harry says “are you in Kentucky?”

“Are you in Kentucky?” he asks again, once she’s stopped speaking.

“Depends. Are you drunk?”

Harry makes a noise which sounds a little like denial, then relents. “Maybe.”

“Yeah, I’m in Kentucky. Leaving tomorrow.”

“Do you think there’s a chance you could maybe not?”

“Maybe not what? Exist in Kentucky?”

“Leave.”

Hestia pushes against her hand where it hangs over her knees. A log on the fire spits. “Why?”

“Because I need you.” There’s a heavy beat. “This clinic has all gone to shit and Becca’s said three people have asked for refunds, and more have asked where you are. Plus, I almost got kicked in the head today.”

“I’ve got a clinic in North Carolina in three days,” Allie draws a hand across Hestia’s head, rubbing the dog behind her ears. “I can’t make your clinic and mine.”

“You can cancel yours. Please, Allie – I can pay you.” She closes her eyes, at that. “More than you’d get for your clinic-”

“Bye, Harry.”

Hestia places a paw on her knee, her claws scratching Allie’s thigh.

*

Will goes to college in Virginia, so Allie persuades him to fly in and join her for a week. He comes and watches the last day of her clinic, and holds Esprit’s bridle as Allie rides her around. The mare is unbothered by the latest development, following Will happily.

In the evening, they laze around a campfire drinking beer. After her fifth, Allie sits on his lap, knee either side of his hipbones. His hands go to her sides, under her shirt, and stroke her bare skin.

“I don’t want this to get complicated, or serious,” he tells her, as she peppers a light kiss to his neck. “I kind of like someone else.”

Allie pulls his t-shirt over his head, runs her hands over his shoulders. “It’s okay. Apparently I don’t really do serious.”

He spoons her afterwards, and doesn’t complain when she steals his t-shirt. He even travels with her to the next competition. Allie pulls him by the hand across the showground to watch the reining competition. He stands behind her, arms gripping the railings, bracketing her in. He drops a kiss to the base of her neck.

“Why are you always so sweaty?” he complains, “you’re so gross.”

Allie falls backwards, nudging him with her shoulder. “Says you! You’ve already changed your shirt like three times today. It’s really hot!”

It’s easy, simple. They trade kisses and quips and ice creams which melt all over their fists. She comes second in the competition, and he celebrates by trying to win her a giant teddy on a fairground stall.

Will looks hesitant as he packs everything back into his bag in preparation for his flight. Allie lazes on her bed, flicking through a book.

“No awkwardness?”

Allie looks up. Grins a little at him. “No awkwardness. You’re a pretty good lay, LeClair, but you’re a much better friend.”

“Reckon I should change my Tinder bio to that?” his grin is easier, less forced. She gets up and hugs him.

*

“Hi Allie,” Becca’s tone is careful, hesitant.

“What’s up?” Allie traps the phone between her ear and her shoulder, scratching at Esprit’s back.

“So…” Allie waits for her friend to gather herself, or her courage, or whatever she needs to do. When the words come, they’re in a rush. “Harry said he saw you and Will at the show last weekend.”

Her hands pause on the mare’s sides for half a second, before she resumes. “Okay.”

“He said it looked like you were together.”

“We’re not together.”

“That’s what I said – he said he saw you making out. Twice.”

Allie stops scratching Esprit. The mare turns her head to investigate the interruption, bumping her muzzle encouragingly against her elbow. Instead, Allie pinches the bridge of her nose. “We’re not together. Will visited, we slept together, we agreed there was no awkwardness, Will left.”

“He told me you didn’t go to his clinic when he asked – and I know your schedule would have worked around it. Because I make your schedule.”

“Not everyone has to go running because Harry Bingham asks them to,” the words fall out in a rush. “Did you ever ask him why he changed from running the clinic with me to Jen?”

Becca’s quiet for several seconds. “That’s between you and him.”

“It is,” Allie agrees. “And so are things between me and Will. And I don’t appreciate being tattled on like this is the fucking playground and Harry’s my stupid, protective, misogynistic older brother. Just because Harry has more money does not mean he can own me.”

“He definitely doesn’t own you.”

“Well – good.”

*

The world is extremely big and Allie Pressman is extremely small. A single human on a rotating ball of water and rock. Constantly feeling like she is on the brink of something big, something more. Living in the prelude to the day when things start to make sense, or start progressing; when she can start to inhabit her own body without feeling like an imposter.

She turns her phone off for a week. When she turns it back on, there’s only four missed calls. One from Cassie, two from Becca, and one from her mom. Lying in bed, she thinks it would be easy to disappear. No one would notice for at least three weeks. Just think she was in a patch of bad signal.

Allie always rings Becca more than Becca rings Allie. Her other friends are scattered across the country, attending colleges with experiences Allie can’t match. She’s utterly failed to make any lasting friendships outside of those thrown together in high school. Her twenty second birthday is less than six months away and she has yet to have a successful, lasting relationship.

Harry Bingham doesn’t talk to her.

Outside, Jigsaw kicks over his water bucket in protest. Hestia noses at her hand. Allie gets up.

*

It’s the last competition of the season. They never agreed it, but Becca hasn’t arranged anything else in Allie’s schedule.

It’s early October, and there’s a bite in the air. There’s always doubt as to whether the winter will descend and force the competition to postpone, but apparently that’s only happened twice in the show’s fifty-year history.

Esprit settles in the temporary stabling quicker this time; especially when Allie mists her stall with lavender oil. Jigsaw is used to being shipped from state to state, and just glares over his door at anyone who walks past.

Allie’s brushing Jigsaw down after a ride when Harry approaches. She knows it’s him because Jigsaw reacts, but not as much as he does to a stranger. The stall door opens and closes. Allie doesn’t look up.

“Pressman,” he says after one hundred and twelve seconds. She doesn’t stop, keeps brushing her horse, pushing his head away when he threatens her about a ticklish spot.

After a further twenty-three seconds, he says, “So, I probably shouldn’t have demanded you come to the clinic.” That makes Allie still, the brush resting on Jigsaw’s side. “And I shouldn’t have passed the message through Becca about changing to Jen for the clinic.”

Allie runs her hand down Jigsaw’s spine, for something to do with her hands. She is overly conscious of Harry’s gaze on her back.

“You’ve never not come before.” Allie hears him shifting. “I miss you.”

She leans her head against Jigsaw’s shoulder until he leaves.

He still joins her in the ring, nodding at her across the empty space between them.

*

She falls off Esprit in the training arena, in front of a middle-sized crowd. Someone with no ring etiquette crowds right up behind the mare and she scoots forwards, right into the path of another horse. She swerves then, panicked, her ears flat to her head, her nostrils flaring.

It’s more the embarrassment which keeps Allie on the floor. Then a familiar voice says “up you get, kid,” and she’s being pulled to her feet.

Buck is holding Esprit’s reins. Allie runs a hand down the mare’s neck and across her forehead to soothe her.

“You just about did a number on a few of us, then,” Buck nods across the ring. Harry’s halfway up the fence, clutching the top railing. He’s looking intently at them.

Allie turns her back. Smiles at the man in front of her. “Thanks, Buck.”

“My mare’s looking good,” Buck appraises her quickly, claps a hand to the mare’s neck. “Maybe you should think about buying a couple for the winter and selling them in Spring. You seem to like the training side of things.”

Harry Bingham climbs down from the fence.

*

The bottle of peach schnapps is mostly empty when there’s a knock on her truck door. She’d tried vodka, but it definitely doesn’t agree with her. Harry Bingham doesn’t wait for her to answer, and Hestia jumps up to greet him.

Her limbs are loose, rolling, and her bed is the comfiest place she’s ever been. If she closes her eyes, she can pretend she’s anywhere in the world. Currently, she’s on an inflatable in a pool under the sun.

“Becca text me. Apparently, you’ve sent her a paragraph and some pictures on how the rust stain on your roof looks like Christ the Redeemer.”

“The resemblance,” Allie informs him loftily, “is uncanny.” Staring at the mark, she raises one arm. Her hand seems extremely far away from her face. “Cross there – beard there.”

Harry’s not looking at the roof. He’s looking at her, his arms folded across his chest. Then he’s looking around the truck, and moving some empty bottles around on the side. “Becca’s worried about you.”

“I’m okay,” it’s more of a mumble.

“Yeah, it definitely looks like that’s true.”

Allie drops her hand. It lands on her bed with a thud. “I didn’t ask you to come.”

Harry sighs. “You never do.”

Hestia climbs up onto the bed next to her, because she is mostly Allie’s. “What’s it like, being someone’s favourite?”

“What?” he’s looking at her tiredly, vaguely annoyed.

“Well, you have Jen. My mom and dad have Cassandra. Becca has Eden and I think someone else she won’t tell me about. I think Cassie has Gordie, but that is unconfirmed.” She props herself up on her elbows, misses the first time. “I just think it would be nice, being someone’s favourite.”

“Animals literally follow you around like Doctor fucking Doolittle.”

Allie strokes a clumsy hand down Hestia’s back. “They don’t talk, though.”

“Becca adores the bones of you.” His expression has changed from annoyance to something else. Something that isn’t quite pity, but is close enough that it rankles.

“It doesn’t matter,” Allie lies back down. Hestia noses at her arm. “You can tell Becca I’m okay. You are officially absolved of your duty.” Allie waits for the door to close.

Instead he says, “I don’t think I’m Jen’s favourite.”

Allie peers at him blearily. “Is it because you’re an asshole?”

His smile is all teeth and devoid of any humour. “Probably.”

“I still liked you, though. When you were being an asshole. God,” she laughs a little, more an exhalation than anything, “I had the worst crush on you.”

Harry’s gone very still. He licks his lips once before asking, “what?” and it sounds mostly disbelieving.

“Yeah, when I was fifteen I think? And then you kissed me and you were crying and it was sad - God your dad was such a dick - and I was like oh shit – and then you started dating Kelly and she is like, the nicest person ever – so I got over myself. Plus, you were an asshole.”

“Still am, apparently.” His cheeks are tinged pink under his freckles and he’s distinctly not looking at her.

Allie hums. The world is fuzzy and gentle, and sleep threatens the edge of her consciousness. “I think you’re just pretending, most of the time. You’re kind of really nice.”

When she wakes up, her hair’s in a loose braid and there’s a full glass of water on the side.

Her horse’s stalls are already cleaned out when she reaches them, and Jigsaw loiters in the back looking offended.

She waits until noon before she starts driving home.

*

The house is simultaneously exactly how she’d planned it, but completely different to her expectations.

Light streams in through the bay windows. There are window seats, and solid oak chests storing blankets to be thrown over the couches. The kitchen is complete with a massive range cooker that Allie doubts she will ever be able to fully operate. The wooden flooring of the living room gives way to warm red tiles, which should clash with the sage green walls but somehow doesn’t.

One end of the kitchen is dominated by a huge wooden table. It also happens to be the ugliest table she’s ever seen. It’s all mismatched wood of varying colours and lengths, but not in a shabby chic way. The legs don’t match, and one leg is propped up by a folded-up piece of cardboard. Allie stops short when she sees it.

“Don’t,” Becca warns with a sigh, “Grizz made it. I’m trying to get Eden to drawn on it so I can paint the legs and sand it down without offending him.”

Allie’s room is in the now converted attic. One room is a dark teal and the rest are white. There’s an inordinate amount of plants everywhere, including in the attached bathroom. Huge skylights make it one of the brightest rooms in the house, and she can see across the paddocks from her bed. Distantly she can see the black and white figure of Jigsaw as he ambles around.

“I’m a genius,” Allie declares. Becca raises an eyebrow. “And you are also perhaps more of a genius, for pulling this off.”

Allie invites her parents around for dinner, which is a chicken dish which she burns in her new fancy oven. Eden is the only one who complains.

“I appreciate your honesty,” Allie tells her, as the rising three-year-old stands in her chair, sending her bowl clattering to the floor. Hestia springs into cleaning up duty. Eden cries as her dinner gets devoured.

Allie’s mom helps her clean up, whilst her dad helps Becca wrangle the wayward child into bed with the promise of a bedtime story.

“We’re really proud of you, Allie,” her mom puts a hand on her shoulder and for some reason Allie has to try not to cry. “And we’re so happy to have you home.”

*

Allie invites everyone over for a meal the day after Thanksgiving and promptly rings Will in a panic when people accept and it dawns her that she’s now going to have to cook for them. He tells her to calm down and sends her a list, promising he’ll help her cook everything on the day.

Grizz comes in from the garden as she’s writing the list. He’d come over the other day to admire his table, then convinced Allie she needs a vegetable patch in the back garden. He’d come back most days to dig one, and was talking about putting in raised beds and a greenhouse.

“Fancy a change of scene and grocery shopping?” Allie asks, as she checks she has enough tote bags. Sponsors have given her various ones over the years, but her mom keeps stealing all of hers.

Grizz agrees. It’s raining lightly, and Allie’s grateful that the new barn in the paddocks is mostly finished. She’s put a huge round bale of hay in there for the horses, who seem thankful for somewhere dry to rest.

Grizz surveys the list she’s written as they walk into the store. “Are you opening a soup kitchen? Two whole joints of beef?”

“I think there’s about twelve of us in total. Plus, leftovers are arguably the best part.”

Grizz gets distracted in the homeware section and tries to slip some ridiculously big serving bowls into the cart. Allie relents, mostly because she’s not sure that she has enough crockery for everyone anyway.

They’re standing in the alcohol aisle arguing about whether they need two or six bottles of vodka when Grizz almost hits someone with the cart.

“Oh, sorry man,” Grizz looks at his potential victim apologetically. Then, “hey, Campbell.”

“Well, this looks cosy,” every word out of her cousin’s mouth always sounds snide and cutting. Allie also hates him because of Elle.

Who’s hurrying around the corner, clutching a bottle of bleach in one hand. She becomes hesitant as she sees who’s in the aisle.

“Hi Elle,” Allie’s eyes scan over her, looking for the obvious. Elle draws her jacket around herself, dropping the bleach into Campbell’s waiting hand.

“Big Thanksgiving plans?” Campbell drawls, surveying the contents of Allie’s cart.

“Allie’s organised a dinner for the day after, because people will definitely want to eat more,” Grizz jerks his chin at Allie.

“You’re both welcome,” the words sound false as she says them, but Allie’s looking at Elle. “It’s kind of a potluck. Up at the farm.”

“I’ve heard,” Campbell’s eyes have always unnerved her, but she tries to meet his gaze. “Playing at being a rich kid. I’m not sure you’re convincing anyone.”

Grizz steps closer, a quiet figure of support. “Well nice to see you Campbell, Elle. Maybe see you Saturday. About six, if you want to come.”

Campbell’s eyes flash with displeasure at being dismissed. He snaps, “come on, Elle,” and marches off, his girlfriend trailing behind him. Elle doesn’t look back at Allie.

Allie adds more wine to the cart.

“God, he’s always given me the creeps,” Grizz swaps Allie’s choice of the cheapest white wine for a more expensive version.

“They probably won’t come anyway. He’s super controlling.”

Grizz persuades Allie to stop by the hardware store on the way home to pick up provisions for the garden. She can’t even bring herself to complain about it because it would be like kicking a puppy. She does insist on paying by pointing out she is basically extorting him for his labour.

“People have fought for your rights as a worker, Grizz,” she implores to him until he relents.

*

Will flies in the night before, and they have a small celebration on actual Thanksgiving at Allie’s parents. Becca and Eden also attend.

“We’re all excited to see if Allie burns her house down tomorrow,” her dad comments idly. Will grins at her across the table. “How many is it now?

“About fifteen,” the number makes Allie feel a bit sick. “It’ll be fine. Just don’t expect high end cuisine.”

At seven the next morning, it’s not fine. She hammers on Will’s door. “Will! Don’t we have to be cooking now?” Allie’s already been up and sorted the horses. Hestia creeps into Eden’s room when they get back in.

“No,” Will’s shirtless as he opens the door, his eyes half shut. “What do you think needs to cook for twelve hours?”

“I don’t know! Gravy?”

“I’m going back to bed,” he informs her, and shuts the door in her face. Becca has been drawn out by the commotion and stands in the doorway of her room.

“Going well, is it?”

Allie stomps off to make beds in the spare rooms, in case anyone wants to drink and stay over.

She relaxes when food preparation starts. Becca tasks her with making cookies with Eden, which she quickly determines is a ploy to keep her out of the kitchen as she’s banished to the table to make the mixture. Allie remembers to snatch the cookies from the oven before they burn.

Sam turns up around midday under the guise of helping, but he mostly stands in the way, watching Grizz through the window. Grizz is attacking the designated vegetable growing area with vigour, although Allie has noticed it’s creeping bigger than the agreed dimensions.

Everyone shouts at her to change out of her jeans and sweater when she gets back in from feeding the horses.

“Wear that fancy green dress!” Becca calls up the stairs after her.

“That’s a summer dress!”

“What – like it’s cold in here?”

The green dress is nice. Slightly low cut but not too daring, flaring from the waist down to above her knee. She never wears anything she can’t ride in. She swipes a razor over each leg quickly, and a touch of mascara.

Grizz whistles as she walks down, and Sam claps.

Allie makes pitchers of cocktails as Becca stirs the gravy. Becca’s cheeks are flushed, and she’s looking around the mismatch of people with an almost fond expression. Allie notices she flushes even pinker when Kelly arrives with Helena and Luke. Grizz asked last minute whether they could attend, promising they wouldn’t eat much. Helena has a whole tray of mashed potato, which Allie hands to Will to incorporate into matters.

“This place is amazing,” Helena enthuses, looking around the kitchen. Allie’s folded the doors back into the living room, so everyone can mingle. “Interesting table.”

Grizz looks up at the mention, and Becca draws her hand across her throat rapidly behind his back. Luke nudges his girlfriend gently.

Allie’s two cocktails and a shot with Will deep by the time her parents turn up. Karen and Olivia traipse in behind them, and following them is Harry.

“I didn’t realise you could make it,” Allie comments. He’s paused by the door as she struggles to fit people’s jackets onto a chair Grizz has placed there for this exact purpose. The silky lining of her mom’s jacket keeps threatening the stability of her stacking. Allie scowls as the jacket pile starts to move.

“Had a gap in the diary, so I flew up for Thanksgiving,” he’s looking at her, his gaze lingering distinctly not on her face, before he looks past her. “Why have you ruined it with such an ugly table?”

Allie sighs.

She helps Will serve everything into pre-heated bowls and places them in the centre of the table. Allie shoos Harry out of the head of the table position.

“This is my house, Bingham,” she informs him, and begins carving the beef. Her dad watches her mournfully as she cuts it into thick, uneven slices.

There’s a knock at the door five minutes into eating. Allie hears it, as the closest.

“Elle!” she cries, as she opens the door. She may be on her fourth cocktail. “Hi! So glad you could make it.” Campbell pushes a box at her on the way past.

“Elle made brownies.”

“Oh, thanks! Grab a seat – plates are over there. I’ll just get some cutlery.”

Allie puts the box of brownies on the side, out of reach of Eden and Hestia.

Becca’s daughter runs around a little wildly, defying any order to sit down. Allie pulls her onto her knee when Eden tries to persuade Campbell to interact with her. The dark, empty look Campbell casts the girl is sinister.

Elle helps Allie plate up dessert. Allie says, “it’s nice to see you, Elle. You can come round whenever you want.”

Elle drops the plate of brownies. Chunks of china get mixed in with the dessert and Elle’s shoulders start shaking as she crouches on them. Allie kneels next to her, a hand on her shoulder. The girl flinches away but then relaxes slightly.

“I’m sorry, Allie. I ruin everything. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. Don’t be silly, you haven’t ruined anything. We can probably salvage some.”

Allie starts picking the top layer which didn’t actually touch the floor up. Elle knocks them from her hand. Looks at her pleadingly.

“Can we just tell Campbell you’re keeping them as a thank you gift?” she asks.

Allie sees sneakers, and looks up at Harry. He’s looking at them both on the kitchen floor curiously, an empty pitcher in one hand.

“Give us a minute. Can you keep Hestia and anyone without shoes on out?” Harry nods, deposits the pitcher on the side and leaves.

Allie scoops all the brownies and broken crockery into a trash bag and quickly runs the vacuum cleaner over the tiles for any stray parts. Elle leans against the counter watching her, her eyes dull, faint tears making tracks down her cheek.

There’s silence when Allie turns the vacuum off. “You shouldn’t be this upset over brownies.”

Elle looks away, shrugging a shoulder. “It’s not as simple as that.”

It is, Allie thinks. But she doesn’t push it. Just stores the vacuum away, and then carries out dessert to the table.

Campbell and Elle are the first to leave, almost immediately after dessert. Campbell has a dead look behind his eyes as he smirks his thanks. Then Allie’s parents, Karen and Olivia leave. They take Eden with them for a sleepover, the girl’s head lolling against Jim’s shoulder. Becca covers her daughter in kisses and then tucks herself under Allie’s arm on the couch, their heads leaning together.

“Your parents are so nice,” Becca sips from her drink, relaxing a little now she’s not having to intercept her daughter constantly. “I’m so thankful for them.”

“Thankful at Thanksgiving.” They survey the room together. “Do you think Sam likes Grizz? Don’t be obvious.”

Becca is extremely obvious. Her head swivels quickly to observe as the pair sit on the floor with Hestia between them, slightly drawn out of the main buzz of the conversation so Grizz can hear Sam’s voice.

“Just because they’re the only two gay men in here doesn’t mean they’re going to get it on,” Becca shifts closer to Allie as Kelly joins them, forcing herself onto a couch definitely only meant for two.

“Allie, I can see your butt,” Cassie calls across the room. She’s leaning against Gordie, who has definitely kissed her on the forehead more times than is platonic. Allie waves at her cheerfully and makes no attempt to pull her dress down.

Harry’s in the kitchen when she finally gives into demands to make more mint mojitos. He’s idly washing glasses in the sink, but also half staring out the dark window.

“Hey,” he jumps a little at her voice. The pitchers clunk heavily onto the surface and Allie starts searching for all the relevant ingredients. “You okay? You seem a little quiet today.”

He has still been charming, easy going. Mainly chatting to Luke and Grizz, but also to Becca and Kelly. Humouring his sister’s latest obsession with a grave look. But Allie can see a slight hesitation in him, in how he looks away from conversations or preoccupies himself with fussing Hestia.

“Thanksgiving always reminds me of my dad,” he finishes rinsing the last glass and dries his hand on a dishcloth. “And the first year – it was really shit. Usually me and Jen do our own alternative.”

“I’m sorry.”

Harry turns around, finally, shrugs his shoulders absently. “It’s not your fault. Besides, today has been really good.”

Allie starts squeezing limes into a measuring jug. Allows the change of conversation. “I know. I’m just obviously such an amazing host.”

“I would say Will and Becca probably did the majority of the work,” Allie scowls at him, “but you weren’t too bad.”

“High praise indeed,” she licks lime juice from her hands, winces at the sourness. “I’ll tell Becca to put that glowing review online.”

Harry watches her as she rinses her hands and starts to pull bottles down from the shelf. “How’s Will?”

“Good, I think. Minorly obsessed with his new girlfriend, but it’s kind of on the cute rather than stalkery side.” He’s watching her intently. Looks away. Allie thinks she sees a small smile pulling at his lips for a moment, but then they flatten. Allie finishes the cocktails off with copious amounts of alcohol, and stirs them. “Can you grab some beers for Luke and Grizz?” Allie asks, picking up a pitcher in each hand.

Harry obliges, following her out of the kitchen. There’s no room for Allie on the couch with Kelly and Becca, so she collapses next to Gordie and Cassie. Harry sprawls on the floor near her, calling Hestia over. Sam and Grizz look betrayed as she pads over to him.

People start retiring to bed as the night draws on. Allie sees Cassie and Gordie going into one room, and raises her eyebrow at her sister. Cassie flushes, and shuts the door with a snap.

She bullies Harry into braiding her hair out of her eyes. She sits on the floor between his legs as he does so, cheek against his knee. Becca and Grizz both separately give her looks that seem significant.

“Me next,” Grizz announces, and Harry does his best to pull his locks into a small French braid. It looks kind of cute. Becca takes pictures of them all.

 _“I prefer it down,”_ Sam muses, and he’s definitely beyond tipsy. _“More to hold onto.”_

Becca and Allie are the only ones who see his signs, and they look at each other, eyes widened. Allie mouths _told you_ and Becca mouths _fuck you._

“This beats any Thanksgiving, ever,” Will declares. Allie lies on the couch with her legs across him, and her head on Harry’s knee.

“It’s been pretty great,” Harry concedes, as he plays with the end of Allie’s braid.

Grizz ends up in Allie’s bed. He looks a little awkward as he gets under the covers. “Allie. Just so you know, I’m gay.”

Allie pauses as she brushes her teeth. “I know,” she says around her toothbrush, and a blob of toothpaste lands on her cleavage. She wipes it away. “You’re not exactly my type, anyway.”

Grizz is placated, and pulls the covers over him. “No, I’m not a rich asshole.”

“And I’m not my ginger, male cousin, so I think we’re both safe.”

He scowls at her as she turns the light off.

*

Allie stumbles to feed her horses before everyone’s up. Hestia joins her, tail wagging with joy. The grass is crisp with frost, crunching underfoot. Esprit trots over, neighing once, when she sees her. Jigsaw skulks around in the barn. Allie keeps a sharp eye on her gelding to ensure he doesn’t try to steal Esprit’s grain, and his tail flicks in dissatisfaction. They follow her out to the paddock as she retreats back to the house, their breath billowing in plumes in the cold air.

Harry’s asleep on the couch when she walks in. Hestia wakes him up by licking at his nose until he splutters, pushing the dog away.

“I do have beds you know,” Allie holds out a mug to him. She’s stirred cocoa powder into it to make a faux mocha.

“All taken,” his t-shirt rides up as he stretches, flashing his abdomen. She doesn’t look. Much.

Hestia joins her in the kitchen as she starts idly making breakfast, putting it in heat proof dishes in the oven for people to help themselves. When she looks up, Cassie’s watching her shrewdly.

“What?” Allie is self-conscious. Cassie shakes her head and retrieves the orange juice from the fridge.

The idle chatter around the table dies as she approaches, and everyone turns towards her innocently. Allie frowns around the room. Becca waggles her eyebrows at her. Luke laughs a little. Harry keeps catching her eye and smirking faintly.

“What’s so funny?” she corners Harry as he’s brushing his teeth.

Harry spits, wipes his mouth. Looks at her for a long moment. “Your sweatshirt.”

Allie looks down at the sweatshirt. It’s faded and too big for her, sliding down her shoulder. She’s pushed the sleeves up to her elbows. There’s no obvious marks or faults. No accidental nipple sighting. She isn’t wearing a bra, but it is the twenty first century. She looks back at Harry uncomprehendingly.

“It’s mine,” he explains, and he’s rinsing his toothbrush and not looking at her. “It has my name on the back.”

Allie stomps upstairs to change. Harry calls, “you can keep it, it suits you,” after her, with what Allie imagines is a shit eating grin.

People stay longer than Allie anticipated. She ends up trying to teach Helena the basics of riding on Indigo, but they abandon their attempt when it starts raining. Harry starts a fire in the living room and Grizz pulls crackers and marshmallows from God knows where, sticking them onto the end of the poker to make smores.

Later, when she’s cocooned in her bed with rain drumming gently on the roof, Allie sees Will’s Instagram post. It’s a series of black and white snapshots of everyone – of her dad, with two straws in his mouth to do a walrus impression for Eden, of Will on the couch, asleep, Allie’s feet in his lap and her head on Harry’s knee, of Eden trying to sit on Hestia’s back and Sam swooping in to save the dog, laughing. The caption is _Thanksgiving with the extended fam._

Her heart soars.

*

The house feels unnecessarily big and empty with everyone gone. Eden fills some of it when she screeches, and Hestia is always willing to join in by barking. Sometimes Allie crawls into bed next to Becca, pressing herself to her friend’s back. She starts working at the diner again.

Kelly visits quite a lot. Her and Allie are on a trail ride on Indigo and Jigsaw when they spy the kids on the drive. They look around eleven, and are carrying backpacks which are unzipped. They’re throwing something at Snowy and Esprit, who stand at a wary distance.

“Hey!” the kids scramble at her shout, jumping down from the railings. Allie trots Jigsaw closer, scowling. She looks at the missiles in their hands, and then at what they’ve thrown. Apples. Esprit is slowly coming forwards, picking one from the floor.

There are two kids, one blonde boy, one brunette girl. They trip over themselves.

“I’m sorry, ma’m – we just had some bruised apples-“

“We were just trying to feed them-“

They shut up at her glare. It’s cold, and the tips of her fingers are numb. The kids are dressed in thin jackets and don’t have gloves.

“You’d better come in,” she tells them, and she slides off Jigsaw and opens the gate to the paddocks. The kids share a wary look. “Come on, I’ll show you how to do it properly.”

She unsaddles Jigsaw quickly in the cross ties, and throws a blanket over his back. Then she takes them to the small feed area and shows them how to cut the apples into appropriate sized chunks. The girl laughs as Snowy lips the slices gently from her hand, his whiskers tickling her palm.

Allie ties the Shetland up and teaches them the basics of handling and grooming safely. “Be careful around their back legs,” she warns them, as Snowy stands stock still, placid and reliable.

They both thank her profusely as they’re leaving. Allie tells them to ask their parents whether they’d be okay if she could teach them to ride.

“I have too many horses,” she sighs sorrowfully, not looking directly at them. “I can’t keep up with their exercise.”

“Maybe,” says the girl nonchalantly. “We’ll ask.”

*

Just as she’s getting used to it just being her, Becca and Eden, everyone is back home for Christmas.

Grizz comes to check on his vegetable patch and plants some bulbs in preparation for Spring. Allie’s ordered him a greenhouse and he runs his hands over the glass panes in glee.

“I’m gonna grow so much shit,” he promises her, before he disappears in his car. He comes back with plant pots and trays of compost and a chalkboard, making notes of sewing times and temperatures of relevant vegetables.

“No, it’s important,” he insists as they sit around the table, “what vegetables does everyone like?”

Sam spends more time at the farm than at home, and starts experimenting with recipes. Some are inedible, but some are surprisingly good. He swats her with a towel when she expresses her surprise.

“Is this more what you wanted?” Cassie looks at her over the top of a mug of coffee. Allie leans against her sister, her chin on her shoulder.

“This is more like it.”

*

The two kids, Bianca and Toby, get brought by their parents every Saturday for a riding lesson. Indigo is ever patient with them, ambling along with her head low, ignoring any mistakes they make at the beginning. One rides whilst the other brushes Snowy diligently, pulling their fingers gently through the tangles in the pony’s mane. Harry’s truck pulls up as Allie is finishing the lesson, enthusing to the kids and their parents about their progress.

“Are we running a riding school now?” Harry asks her, as she unsaddles Indigo and brushes her down. Allie doesn’t look at him. “Are they even paying?”

Indigo lips a sugar cube from Allie’s fingers. “Riding lessons are expensive,” she protests.

“This place has got to make money someday,” Allie can hear the disapproval in his voice. “It’s a good job some of us have got business sense – Buck’s sent you a present.” The present is in the form of a tall bay gelding who flinches when Harry drops the ramp of the truck. “Apparently, he’s a bit of an asshole, so it’s lucky you specialise in them. He belongs to a friend of Buck’s, who just wants him to chill out and not hate people by next season.”

Harry leads him gingerly down the ramp, and the gelding stops at the bottom, looking around haughtily. Fiji spies Allie and strains at his rope, whickering softly to her. Behind her, Harry dodges the new horse’s teeth.

*

The kids bring her Christmas cards, knocking on the front door. Bianca’s mom hands over a plate of Christmas cookies.

“We appreciate you taking the time,” she informs her, as the kids get distracted by Hestia. “They really look forward to it.”

“Well,” Allie bluffs, “they’re helping me out as well.”

The woman looks at her with a small smile.

Allie hangs the cards on the fridge, and Harry pauses over them when he comes in from the barn to get a drink.

*

It’s almost a relief to have more space to host the annual Christmas Eve drinks. Becca dresses Eden and Hestia as elves, but they keep stealing each other’s hats. It’s better attended than previous years, with Helena and Luke and Clark joining the group. Will hadn’t even bothered to wait for an invitation, just messaged Becca with his flight details.

Clark keeps catching her eye across the room and smiling slowly. Allie is flattered by the attention.

It takes Becca and Sam to persuade Eden to go to bed, and it is only with the threat that Santa might not come that the girl acquiesces. The pair come down the stairs together triumphantly, arm in arm.

Allie’s phone buzzes in her pocket. She excuses herself to the downstairs bathroom to answer.

“Elle?”

“Allie?” her worlds are muffled, a whisper. “Can I come and stay with you? Please?”

Harry’s the only one not drinking. Allie ropes him into driving her and Becca’s truck to the hospital.

“Just promise you won’t ask any questions,” Allie looks at him. His brow is pinched in confusion.

“This is extremely mysterious. Do you have a spy friend?” Her gaze doesn’t waver, until he relents. “Okay, fine, no questions.”

Elle is in the waiting room, her head bowed. When she looks up, her hair sticks to her split lip and there’s blood crusted around her nostrils. Allie can see a line of purple around her neck.

“Just the ribs, this time,” Elle says with a grim and unsettling smile. There’s no emotion in her eyes.

Harry’s quiet for the ride home. “I’ll clear the kitchen,” he says as they pull up outside.

Allie takes Elle through the back door and straight up to her room. There are dull thuds on the stairs as Harry ascends, a flannel in one hand. Allie warms it under the hot tap and tilts Elle’s head back, gently washing the blood from her face. Elle’s hands are limp in her lap.

Harry leaves them as Allie finds Elle clothes to wear. She changes slowly, stiffly, Allie helping to pull her sweater over her head. Allie doesn’t react to the bruises littering her skin.

“This is the last time,” Elle locks eyes with her as she tells Allie, pressing her fingers into a bruise on her ribs as if it’s a reminder. Allie pulls her hands away, clasps them in her own. Wishes she could believe her.

*

By the time she goes back downstairs everyone’s either left, or gone to bed. Sam and Becca are creeping around trying to organise Eden’s presents under the tree.

“You okay?” Harry’s wiping the sticky remnants of drinks from the table. Looks up as she pads in. Allie crosses her arms over herself, hugging, as she waits for a mug of milk to heat up in the microwave.

“Yeah, just tired.”

The cloth passes to his other hand. He pushes a lock of hair out of his eyes. “You can’t save everyone, Pressman,” he says it almost gently.

Allie taps her spoon off the counter. “You can always try.”

*

Elle sleeps fitfully, her breathing uneven in the dark. Allie reaches out and grabs her hand, pulling her arm towards her. Hestia is a steady weight across their feet.

Allie wakes up to Elle changing into her old clothes. She looks guiltily at Allie.

“Elle – no-”

There’s resolve in her eyes, a hard expression on her face. “I have to, Allie. Or he’s going to hurt you, or Eden, or Becca.”

“We can help you-”

“You have no idea what he’s capable of.”

Allie screams at the ceiling as Elle leaves.

*

Sam stayed over to celebrate Christmas with his daughter. Eden’s eyes are wide as she comes down the stairs and sees the pile of presents under the tree. She dives in, ripping paper off and throwing it for Hestia to tear into smaller pieces.

“Oh God,” Allie and Becca both hold pot plants from Grizz. Sam pulls a matching third one from a gift bag, looking at the green shrub wryly.

“Nicer than the table, though,” Allie comments, ducking as Becca throws a wadded ball of wrapping paper at her head.

Allie’s parents and Cassie come over for lunch, and Amanda takes over the kitchen. Every time Allie tries to help she gets shooed away.

“Just give in,” Jim urges her from the couch, “it’s much easier.”

After lunch they go for a walk around the farm, the air bracingly cold. Their cheeks and noses tinge red. Jim starts a fire when they get back and Hestia flops in front of it on her back, warming her toes.

Allie takes Eden with her when she feeds the horses, overseeing the girl as she offers Snowy a carrot. The tiny pony is cautious with the small human.

“Hoppy Christmas!” Eden shouts at them. Jigsaw startles, throwing Allie a disgusted look before vacating the barn.

*

At the end of January, Grizz turns up with three pygmy goats.

“Don’t ask me where I got them from,” he says as they watch them frolicking around a stall in the unfinished barn. Construction is due to commence again in a few weeks, and Allie’s looking forward to having an indoor arena rather than braving the elements.

“Where did you get them from?”

A pause. “Target.”

“Target? I didn’t even know they sold goats.”

“They don’t. Technically, Target’s parking lot.”

“For God’s sake.”

Allie makes Grizz build them a suitable enclosure. He chooses a patch of flat land to the side of the house, and even constructs a lopsided, sagging shed for them to shelter in. They coral the goats into the pen, and one immediately jumps out. Allie looks at Grizz.

“Teething issues,” he dismisses lightly, and then runs after the goat.

They name them Greg and Geoff, and Sam names the third Grizz. Grizz is affronted.

“He did pick the best looking one,” Allie points out innocently. The man scowls at goat-Grizz. Goat-Grizz starts chewing on the metal wire of the pen, bleating between each chew.

The chickens arrive a week later. Hestia chases them around the yard until one turns on her, squawking indignantly.

Eden is overjoyed with collecting fresh eggs each morning, but does drop her fair share all over her bright yellow boots. Hestia licks them clean. Becca watches them both in exasperation.

*

Allie’s heart jolts when Harry calls her.

“Pressman.” He’s back in Texas, coaching the junior team. Allie hasn’t seen him since Christmas.

“Bingham.”

“Have you thought about how you’re going to make any money yet?”

Her content mood evaporates, leaving her feeling defensive. “I haven’t missed a single mortgage payment, so I don’t think you have to worry, Bingham.”

“Your prize money is only going to go so far.” Allie doesn’t know whether he intends to sound so patronising, or just naturally is.

“I know. I have plans. Once this place looks less like a construction site I can start organising things. A few more kids have asked about lessons.”

“Doesn’t count if they don’t pay you, Pressman.”

“Everyone deserves access to animals.”

“Goodwill and generosity don’t pay the bills.”

“Not everyone can have a rich, shitty daddy who dies and leaves them a small fortune, Bingham. Some of us have to make do with what we’ve got – which, shockingly, isn’t a lot for some people. That does not mean you are a better human being or more deserving than them. I am not a bad person for being nice.”

The dial tone as Harry hangs up is almost aggressive.

*

“I’m leaving him.”

Elle stands in Allie’s kitchen, all blazing eyes and jutted chins. It’s Spring Break, and Grizz and Sam are trying to persuade Eden to eat vegetables at the table. They look over at Allie and Elle with mild interest, but their voices are too hushed for them to hear what’s being said.

“Okay,” Allie is more resigned than anything, because they’ve been here before.

“No,” Elle insists. “I am.” She looks around the room and she looks vulnerable, small.

“Obviously we’ll help you. But we have to tell the others why,” Allie looks at her carefully.

Elle rolls her shoulders back. Takes a breath in. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> friends are the most important thing in the world okay
> 
> (also sorry if you thought they were going to address The Kiss these kids are IMPOSSIBLE)


	9. nine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just as a warning, this chapter does contain graphic violence and injuries

First, they decide who to tell. Elle adamantly refuses to go to the police. Becca, Grizz, Will and Kelly are on the list to be told straight away. Elle doesn’t want to involve Allie’s parents. There’s a question over whether to involve Sam.

“I think he should know what’s going on. He is Campbell’s brother,” Allie argues, and Elle nods her assent.

Allie tells them whilst Elle sits in her room.

Becca says, “that fucking piece of shit.”

“Fuck,” says Grizz.

Sam looks grim but unsurprised. He hesitates, his jaw setting. Grizz puts a hand on his shoulder, clasping it firmly.

“What are we going to do?” that’s Will, always searching for a plan.

“Elle’s going to stay here until things calm down. Obviously, there’s quite a lot of us. So, I think we just ensure that there’s always someone in the house with her, and that we keep doors locked. I think it’s pretty unlikely that he’s actually going to do anything with all of us here. He’s not interested in the rest of us.”

Elle joins them to watch TV in the evening. The group are a little cautious around her, slightly hesitant. Allie cooks meatballs and pasta and sleeps curled up around Elle. Hestia sleeps at the foot of the bed. 

When Allie opens the door in the morning, there’s a dead chicken on the doorstep. It lies in a pool of congealed blood. The air smells of copper and there are already flies crawling over the bird. Allie takes a plethora of pictures with her phone, then scoops it into a plastic bag and scrubs the step with bleach until the scent of chlorine replaces anything else.

She wakes Becca. “You need to take Eden to my parents.”

Becca looks at her, at her raw hands. She doesn’t ask why. Just packs a bag and chivvies Eden to get changed.

_“What’s going on?”_ Sam asks. Allie hands him her phone, the screen lighting his features as he scrolls through the pictures. Grizz appears at his elbow, frowning over his shoulder.

“I don’t want to go on a sleepover,” Eden protests loudly. “I want to see Snowy!”

“You’re going to have loads of fun,” Allie tries to promise her Goddaughter. “If you ask nicely, you can make some chocolate cookies.”

Eden insists on saying goodbye to all the animals. She strokes the goats, and pats Snowy on the nose. Even chases the chickens around the yard, trying to pat one. Their squawking makes Allie feel a little sick. She takes shallow breaths through her nose.

Grizz brings her a camomile tea as she sits on the porch, looking over the farm. The swing seat still sits in a box in storage, waiting for a sunny day to be installed. She can hear the goats bleating, and see the horses milling around in the paddocks.

“It’s going to be fine,” Grizz reassures her, bumping a shoulder against hers.

Elle spends most of the time in Allie’s room. Hestia keeps her company, her head on the girl’s knee.

In the dark Elle whispers, “I poisoned those brownies at Thanksgiving, to try and kill him.” Allie tightens her grip on Elle’s hand. “That’s why I dropped them. We weren’t supposed to come here. I made a double batch, because I wanted to save some for me.”

“You’re going to be okay,” Allie whispers back. “I promise. I swear, you’re going to be okay.” Elle shakes as she cries.

The next morning, Elle is sitting stock still against the headboard, one hand over her mouth. Allie blinks the sleep out of her eyes, frowns at her. Elle hands Allie her phone.

The video is hard to make out, filmed in low light. But the stairs are her stairs. Dread trickles through her as Sam’s bedroom door is pushed slowly open. There are two figures in the bed, Grizz’s arm thrown over Sam.

“Fag,” Campbell whispers, zooming in on their faces. He checks all of the other rooms and pulls a little at Will’s covers. Will stirs, but doesn’t wake up.

Campbell tries to come up to Allie’s room, but Hestia blocks his path. She growls in a low rumble, her hackles raised. A gun comes into frame, pointing at the dog. “Bang,” Campbell whispers. The video stops.

Allie calls everyone to the kitchen and shows them. Will runs a hand over his eyes.

“Fuck,” says Grizz, staring at the phone. “That’s some fucked up shit.”

Allie makes everyone camomile tea and fries some eggs. Hestia is sticking to her side, pressed against her knee.

“I should just go back,” Elle’s voice is small. The sweater she’s borrowed from Allie is pulled down over her hands. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt – really.”

“Fuck that,” Grizz snorts in derision. “He’s got a gun. He’ll kill you, Elle.”

“That’s better than any of you.”

“Sam,” Allie waves to get his attention. “Do you think Campbell would kill anyone?”

Sam shrugs, looking torn. _“I do know he was diagnosed as a psychopath when we were younger,”_ Grizz is frowning at his hands, trying to make sense of the sign. _“I don’t know how far he’d go.”_

“We need to split up, and hide Elle,” Allie decides firmly. “In the most unlikely place. Where he’d never think to go. I think it’s likely he could be watching us, so we’re going to have to smuggle her out.”

Their faces are grim as she looks around the table, but they’re all watching her and nodding.

“Luke and Helena’s,” Grizz suggests. “He’d never think to go there.”

Elle is reluctant to involve anyone else. She cries a little, repeating, “I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me,” under her breath. Allie hugs her, and nods at Grizz. He steps out to make the call.

_“This feels like a really bad heist movie,”_ Sam comments, as they walk around checking the animals have enough food and water. Allie wants to load them all up onto her truck and leave, but there’s nowhere for them all to go.

The horses mill around her in the paddock, looking at her with wide, trusting eyes. Even Jigsaw only threatens her with his ears back rather than biting.

Grizz returns from the store an hour later, with a variety of large boxes. They fill them all with clothes and other miscellaneous items, and put Elle in another. The girl can curl up surprisingly small, her arms clamped around her knees. Allie packs a blanket on top of her, ensuring there’s a gap for airflow so she can breathe.

They carry the big boxes out to the cars in unison. Put them all in the trunks of each respective vehicle. Kelly, Will, Grizz and Sam and Allie all share a look as they slam the trunks shut. Allie locks the front door to her house and calls Hestia to get into the truck.

“He’s not going to come here for the animals,” Grizz reassures her. Allie thinks of the chicken.

She drops Will at Kelly’s.

“Remember,” she reminds him, “if you see him tonight, call the police.”

“I know. Say hi to Karen and Olivia for me.”

“I will.”

Allie stays at Karen’s for three days. The first is to give Elle time to adjust. Allie calls her, and she’s distant. Keeps repeating how she’s sorry, thank you, that it’s all too much trouble.

Helena comes on the line afterwards, speaking calmly. She’s at law school and is a solid, dependable figure. “I think we’re going to the police tomorrow.” Relief curls in Allie’s stomach.

Grizz meets her just outside the farm’s driveway and they go and check the animals together. There’s tension in their shoulders, and they keep looking around nervously. Every time Hestia looks at something, they both flinch reflexively. Geoff the goat attempts parkour off the shed roof with a crash and it takes ten minutes for Allie’s pulse to return to normal. When they drive up to the house all she can think about is the chicken on her doorstep.

On the second day she says, “so, you and Sam, huh?” and Grizz looks at her flatly. 

Goat-Grizz is chewing on the sleeve of his jacket. Grizz scratches him between his horns and is rewarded by him butting against his knee. “We’re taking it slow, keeping it quiet.”

“Sharing a bed is slow now, is it? Kids these days.”

“Perhaps not as slow as you, but I prefer a speed above glacial.”

Allie looks at him. Grizz smiles back.

Allie scatters grain onto his shoes, so it gets caught in his laces and the chickens peck at him.

Elle goes to the police on the second day, armed with Allie and a backed-up cloud full of pictures and videos that Elle won’t let her see. Allie sits in the waiting room for hours, the back of the chair digging into her shoulder blades. Elle comes out looking solemn. Allie stops and gets her a hot chocolate on the way back to Helena’s.

“Luke says there’s some sick shit on there,” Grizz informs her, as they clean out the barn. Allie checks all the horses individually. Jigsaw is slightly less defensive than usual, bumping his muzzle against her shoulder. Snowy is glad for human company, and Esprit and Indigo have turned into a double sister act.

On the third day, the police inform Elle that Campbell’s been seen crossing state lines and that he’s currently in South Carolina. Helena reports back to Allie quietly that they’re putting out an alert for him, but that he would probably be considered low priority. Elle had been recommended to apply for a restraining order by her lawyer. She’s also been recommended to stay with a friend.

“If he sets foot back in town, he’ll be arrested,” Helena reassures the group.

They all breath out a sigh of relief.

“Sounds like you can go home tomorrow, then,” Karen makes Allie a cup of tea every afternoon and they sip it slowly in the kitchen. Allie’s made a batch of brownies using Elle’s recipe, and they’ve come out perfectly.

“Mom, can we get a dog?” Olivia asks from the floor, as she fusses Hestia.

Allie checks the animals once more with Grizz. Jigsaw follows her around the barn, muzzle never far from her back. Confused, Allie watches him closely. He keeps nudging at his belly. When she puts a hand under his blanket, his coat is clammy.

She mixes some pain relief with apple juice and syringes it into his mouth. It seems to work, and he resumes eating hay with the rest of them. Allie watches him for an hour until Grizz complains that he hasn’t got a book and that he’s hungry.

Allie can’t sleep and Hestia keeps nudging at her arm, whining lowly. Finally, she gives in and climbs out of bed. The wheels of the truck crunch on the farm’s drive. Hestia’s tail thumps against the door as she recognises where they are.

Jigsaw approaches her as soon as she enters the barn. He lowers his head in front of her, sweet breath huffing over her face. Allie mixes more pain relief with apple juice and syringes it between his lips. Leads him gently around the barn, until his breathing becomes more regular and he makes a half-hearted attempt to snap at her. When she runs a hand over his sides, the muscles are less tense.

At 8am, the sun starts to rise. Light floods through the barn. Allie’s muscles ache from where she’s been sitting, cramped with tension. She shakes her limbs out as she stands. Hestia springs to her feet, trotting beside her, tail high in the air. Birds sing cheerfully in the trees, a melody that soothes her. Her key slides into the lock of the house.

She’s washing her hands in the kitchen sink when there’s a noise behind her. Allie presumes it’s Hestia, but glances over her shoulder anyway.

Campbell’s standing in her kitchen. His hands are loosely clasped around a mug in front of him, but there’s no gun. Allie is frozen in place.

“Good morning, cousin,” he says almost jovially. “Lovely coffee you have here.”

Hestia’s at her side, growling softly. Allie links a hand through her collar.

“She’s not here,” Allie says quietly, sounding bolder than she feels.

“I know,” Campbell answers easily. “I’ve checked. Nice little stunt you pulled, so congratulations on that. And going to the police. Well done.” He’s wearing thick boots Allie always attributes to him. His earring refracts light as he moves his head, looking slowly around the kitchen. “You really have done well for yourself.”

“I thought you were in South Carolina.”

“My car’s in South Carolina. I’m not sure I trust the police force. Lack of detail is not an ideal trait.”

Allie takes a step backwards. He’s blocked her only route of escape, unless she tries to vault the counters. He takes a step forwards, and Allie backs up again. She looks wildly around for something – anything – for a knife or a pan. But the knives are all in a child proof cupboard to protect Eden, and she struggles with the latch at the best of times.

She pulls open a cupboard which holds the pans, and her other hand fumbles for her phone.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” he comes a lot closer very quickly and raises his arm. The mug smashes into her skull and she falls, hands flying to her head. Campbell stands over her, almost nonchalant. Hestia is barking, jumping at him. Then Allie hears a yelp and the dog falls silent.

Campbell is back in her vision. “The way I see it is, I’m pretty fucked. Restraining order, arrest warrant. So, I may as well make it worthwhile. Why is it she always runs to you? What are you saying to her that turns her against me?”

Her pulse is rushing in her ears and she can feel blood trickling down her forehead. Campbell squats next to her, pulls her head back by her hair. The pain is sharp, pulling at her scalp. Distantly she can hear a faint moan.

“I’m the only one who loves her,” his hand cups the back of her skull, fisted in her hair. It’s almost tender. “And she’s the only one who’s ever loved me. Until you came along.” He lifts her head and smashes it into the tiles. She fights back – blood in her eyes, sticking her hair to her forehead. She grabs at his legs, pulls, scrambles across the floor to where she’s dropped her phone.

Campbell levers himself from her grasp by leaning on the counter. “She used to fight back,” he comments mildly. “In the beginning.” His boot connects with her face, right in her nose. Her head snaps back and she can’t see, can’t hear, can just feel the white-hot pain.

She drags herself across the tiles. Campbell watches her idly, like someone may watch a beetle in the mud. He’s still positioned between her and the exit. As she gets closer to her phone, he brings his boot down on her hand. Then aims for her ribs. Then he leans his hands against the counter and kicks her repeatedly, grunting with exertion. Drags her back across the tiles when she tries to move, boots landing in her ribs, on her head, in her back.

He stops when he’s panting. When she’s curled in a foetal position, arms over her head, unsure if she’s even breathing.

“How many times does a man have to be called a monster before he becomes one?” Campbell muses. “Why do you get everything, and I get nothing, but you still try to take things from me?”

He’s squatting again, hands in her hair. Her skull collides with the tiles and she swears something rattles, comes loose. Her vision is spotted with black. Then there’s something cool and rectangular in her palm. Campbell folds her fingers around it. “Here you go, cuz. Stay away from Elle. Next time, I won’t be so nice.”

Allie doesn’t move for a long time. Even when the front door slams shut. Even when the wheels of a car she’d been too preoccupied to see parked up behind the house spin in the gravel and speed down the drive. She’s vaguely aware that she’s sobbing, quietly, her face pressed into the tiles she’d picked out especially for her kitchen.

Her right hand is swollen and the fingers won’t bend. Her left hand is clumsy as she clicks on her emergency speed dial.

*

She disassociates for the majority of the ride to the hospital. She’d asked the operator for the police, but they’d called the ambulance immediately when they caught sight of her on the floor.

Harry is still her emergency contact. It hurts to speak and they’re injecting her with something in the ambulance which makes her head spin and her sight waver.

“No,” she tries to say, “not Harry – no.”

“It’s okay,” a paramedic has her non injured hand in hers. “It’s all okay.”

“Mom,” she sobs, and there’s blood in her mouth from where she’s bitten her tongue, and blood being wiped from her forehead. It hurts to breath and she’s not entirely sure it’s all worth the effort.

Allie stares at the ceiling tiles of the hospital as they wheel her in.

Doctors talk to her, talk around her. They have to shave sections of her head to stitch up the scalp lacerations. She cries as the locks are collected into a disposable bowl.

“Honey,” the nurse has a kindly face. “We’re going to have to take you for a scan. You’re going to have to be in a gown for this.” She helps her change, slowly. Allie doesn’t look down, but it feels like she’s more black and blue than she is undamaged skin.

They give her more pain medication when she cries out.

The world floats. Allie sinks. She is dimly aware of being arranged in a scanner. Of it clunking and clacking. Of headphones in her ears, and classical music being played.

“You’re doing great, honey,” the kind nurse is back. Lifting a cup of water to her lips. “You can just have a little sleep now, and your parents can see you when you wake up.”

She sleeps.

*

Fractured skull. Three broken fingers. A fractured eye socket. A broken nose. Internal bleeding from blunt face trauma to the abdomen. Concussion. Superficial lacerations to her scalp. Two fractured ribs.

Every time she wakes up, she has a different visitor. Her parents hold her hand. Grizz brings a pot plant. Kelly feeds her sips of apple juice. Becca climbs into her bed, careful not to jostle her. Cassie wants to facetime but Allie doesn’t want to see her own face on the screen. She can’t open one eye fully, and half her head is bandaged. Becca admits in a whisper that she’s going to leave it a bit before Eden visits, to allow the swelling to go down.

“Hestia’s going to be okay,” her dad reassures her, touching her shoulder.

“Is Jigsaw okay?”

“They’re all fine, honey. Karen’s at the farm looking after them for you. You just concentrate on you.”

It’s not that easy, to redirect her worry and her fretting. The day passes in a whirl, morphine dripping into her arm through an IV line into her good hand. It pulls when she moves and makes her feel nauseous.

She has to go for constant CT scans to monitor the internal bleeding. On the second day, she’s hooked up to a blood transfusion as her vitals dip. It’s also the day Campbell gets arrested.

Allie wakes up to Harry sitting in the chair next to the bed with his head in his hands. He’s staring at the ground.

Allie touches the button that controls her morphine intake. Breathes out as it takes effect. “I can see why you liked this stuff.”

Harry looks at her. His hair is on end, as though he’s been running his hands through it. There are dark shadows under his eyes and his face is pale. He doesn’t speak.

“Think the boys will still like me, Bingham?” The room smells like lavender. Her head throbs. She breaths it in shallowly.

“The nurse on the phone said there was a chance you might not make it,” his voice is low. There’s stubble on his cheeks, on his chin. The freckles across his nose have faded. Allie misses them. “I was coaching – I answered _what the fuck do you want_ and I swear to God my heart stopped. Luckily, Buck has a friend with a plane.”

Allie wants to laugh at this but her ribs hurt, so she settles for keeping her breathing even.

“And I was on this plane and there was another family there and they were laughing and looking through the window. And I thought God, there’s not enough opiates that could get me through this. The nurse was saying internal bleeding and fractured skull and head injuries-”

“You’d be okay,” her tongue is swollen and she can only peer at him. “I promise, you would be.”

“I was organising your funeral in my head, Allie. I was thinking would she prefer donations to some shitty horse charity or would she want flowers. Would she want people in black or colours, would she want to be buried or cremated-”

His breathing is ragged and she wants to reach out to him but everything hurts. He’s pulling his hands through his hair, his eyes red.

“If I saw him now, I’d kill him,” the words are low, deliberate. He looks straight at her as he says it. “I swear to God, I would. And I wouldn’t care about his funeral arrangements.”

“I think he’s on a fast track for a cremation in Hell,” Allie doesn’t particularly want to be reminded of Campbell. It makes her skin prickle and her throat close up. There must be something in her expression, because Harry has his hand on her wrist, carefully avoiding the IV line. She stares at it. “How bad is my face?”

He sits back. Doesn’t meet her eye. “It’s still swollen. But they don’t think too bad, once it’s healed.”

It’s half an answer. Vanity has never been her thing, but she still doesn’t want to be permanently changed. “Guys dig chicks with scars though, right?”

His thumb is on her wrist, sweeping over it. “I can’t speak for all men, but I do.” Allie attempts a smile. It pulls at her lip. “I never want to get a phone call like that again.”

Allie makes a mild noise. “Now you know how it is, when I get a call that you’ve overdosed, or broken your pelvis because you’ve been crushed by a horse, or are too high to drive.”

Harry’s thumb stills on her wrist. “I’m sorry, Allie.”

She tries to shrug but stills quickly, wincing. “It’s okay. I’d rather know.”

Frustration crosses his face but his thumb’s back to dragging across her skin. He’s quiet for a long time. It’s soothing, especially when her pain begins to fade. She’s on the verge of sleep when he speaks again. “I call you because I think you’re the only person who gives a shit about me.”

It’s an effort to wrestle her eyes open. “I think Karen Bingham would have something to say about that.”

His chin tucks to his chest and he’s smiling faintly. “Well that’s a given, considering she’s my mom. I’ll amend my statement to exclude blood relatives.” There’s a scrape against the floor as he pushes his chair closer. Rests his chin on the edge of her bed.

“I give a lot of shits about people.” Her voice is faint, and he has his other hand on her arm, fingertips skating across her skin.

“I know. That’s what got you in this mess.” His head turns, cheek to the foam mattress and rough sheet of the hospital bed. “You’re my favourite person, Pressman.” She can feel his breath on her arm, the way he avoids her IV line. Looks at her from under his eyelashes, shy and honest.

Allie closes her eyes.

*

Her parents argue about where she’s going to go when she’s released. Eden and Becca are still at her parent’s house, and Allie caught sight of her face the other day in the mirror whilst washing her hands. She doesn’t want Eden to see her like this.

“I want to go home,” she says. “To my house.”

The look her parents share is long.

“Allie – he – Campbell ransacked the place. We’ve tried to sort it out, but there is some damage.” Her mom’s hand is on her arm, her shoulder.

They take her there. Grizz and Sam are at the door when they pull up. She has to get out of the car slowly, holding one hand to her stomach. Sam’s eyes flicker all over her, his lips pressed together. Grizz stands close to him, dependable.

“Good to see you, Allie,” Grizz smiles at her.

There’s a scrambling of claws on hardwood and the door bangs open. There’s a blur as Harry gets towed out by Hestia. The dog is whining, straining at her collar. Harry plants his feet on the floor to use as leverage.

“Gently, gently,” Harry chides, as Hestia tries to launch herself at Allie. He keeps a hand on the dog’s shoulders, keeping her paws on the floor. Her fur’s soft as Allie buries her hands in it. Once Harry’s satisfied Hestia’s not going to jump at Allie, he releases her collar and straightens up. He’s standing extremely close and backs up a step quickly.

Jim and Amanda have to go back to work. They’ve used all of their employer’s goodwill. Her mom makes sure she’s settled on the couch with her dog, surrounded by snacks. She surveys Sam, Grizz and Harry.

“You boys look after my girl,” Jim’s voice breaks a little. Everyone politely ignores it. “We’ll be back in a few hours, Allie.”

They all sit in silence once they leave. Everyone’s watching her but pretending not to, out of the corner of their eyes or in small, snatched glances.

“You don’t have to sit and stare at me,” she says eventually. “I’m not going to go anywhere. And Campbell’s in jail, so.”

Sam looks away at the mention of his brother. Stands up slowly. Grizz follows him out of the door, closing it softly behind them.

“He feels responsible,” Harry explains, and he seems a little more relaxed now it’s just the two of them.

“That’s stupid.”

Harry shrugs. “I know. He’ll figure that out eventually.”

There’s only the sound of their breathing, and Hestia snuffling in her sleep.

“Can you help me wash my hair?”

It takes ten minutes to get up the stairs, each step up sending a stab of pain through her ribs. Her head spins halfway up the second flight and she has to stop, clutching the rail.

She pulls off her sweater, which leaves her in a cropped bra. Harry looks away. Arranges a chair over the sink in her bathroom.

“I can’t get my stitches wet,” she warns him. His hands are careful on her head, searching for the tape that holds the bandages in place.

“I’ll just do the ends.” He hesitates for a long moment when he unwraps the bandages. Whether it’s at her half-shaved head, or her wounds. A lump rises in her throat and she’s sharply embarrassed.

“I can get Becca to do it-”

Harry looks at her. Fills a jug with warm water. Folds a towel around her neck to cushion her head. He tests the temperature diligently, exceedingly gentle.

“Let me know if it hurts.”

It does pull at some sensitive area on her scalp, but is mostly relaxing. Halfway through she can feel tears on her cheeks. The clean scent of shampoo fills the air. For a second she pretends she’s at a salon, getting her hair washed.

Her roots are still greasy, but her hair is no longer matted with blood. Harry kneels behind her on the bed and pulls a comb through it, then braids it loosely down her back. He’s watching as she gets up, pulls her crop top up to reveal her ribs in the mirror.

She’s always had a perhaps morbid fascination with bruises. They’re objectively beautiful. Purple and blue and yellow, all at once. They litter her sides, her ribs. Her back. She pulls on a sweatshirt with her good hand, only struggling slightly when her bandaged hand gets caught in the sleeve.

Harry doesn’t even complain when she makes him watch Spirit.

*

She has a panic attack in the kitchen whilst getting a glass of water.

Hestia is at her side with the first gasp, whining. Her mom half runs to the kitchen, calling her name. Reaching for her.

“Don’t touch her,” Harry half shouts and he’s skidding in after Amanda. “She hates being touched during them.”

It’s a particularly cruel exercise because she has to breathe deeply to get rid of them, and every breath hurts her ribs and her stomach and it all makes her want to vomit.

Her parents are saying her name and Harry is ranting, faintly, as she presses an arm to her stomach and tries not to sob too viciously, the kitchen tiles cold beneath her feet.

It passes eventually. She continues to get her glass of water.

The front door slams as Harry leaves.

*

Her parents call Becca and she crawls into the bed, her hands careful as she hugs her.

“I love you,” she says, pressing her face into Allie’s neck, breath warm on her skin. “I love you, I love you.”

*

Cassie flies in for the weekend.

They bake cookies together and Cassie laughs at Allie’s attempt to ice them left-handed. Allie flinches at every unexpected noise, but relaxes as the house fills with chatter and people.

Campbell gets charged with second degree assault of Allie, and various offences against Elle. Helena drives over to tell her the outcome.

“Just the second-degree charge carries a maximum sentence of ten years. Everything against Elle – I’m not sure. It depends how he pleads. But I’d think he’s looking at twelve years, or thereabouts.”

Cassie is smiling, saying something to Helena. Allie stares at the wall.

*

She hasn’t left the house in three weeks.

Harry turns up in her room at noon one day, surveying her. “Kelly called,” he explains.

Allie frowns at the ceiling. He gathers the covers in his hands.

“Please don’t make me get up.” Her voice is small.

Harry smooths them back down. Sits down on the edge of her bed and pulls his shoes off, dropping them on the floor. Then he lies down next to her.

“You can’t hide in here forever,” he tells her. Their arms are touching above the covers.

“No,” Allie agrees. “But I can for a while.”

*

The thing that triggers her going outside is goat-Grizz.

She sees the familiar black and white blur as he bounds past the window, enjoying his new found freedom. Allie slams through the door.

“Grizz!” he looks up from where he’s diligently weeding his vegetables. “Your goat’s escaped again!”

In the distance, there is a faint whinny at the sound of her voice. Allie stills, listening. Goes to the front of the house. The horses are in the closest paddocks, heads raised from grazing at her appearance. Jigsaw is at the fence, staring at her.

*

Elle comes and sits with her on the swing seat that her dad’s finally installed.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she says, staring into the mug of camomile tea Sam’s brought them both.

“I’m fine, Elle,” Allie reassures her. Links her hand through Elle’s and leans her head on her shoulder.

“I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. Especially not you. You’ve tried to help me for years.”

It took Allie a whole minute to remember the word cereal this morning. Her brain is sometimes muted, fuzzy. She thinks she’s developed tinnitus in one ear but she’s not sure whether that’s fading or she’s just getting used to it.

“I’d do it all again in a heartbeat,” Allie tells Elle, and she doesn’t think that makes her a hero. Probably just stupid about her own safety. “Now he gets what he deserves.”

*

After three weeks, her face has faded to vague mottled bruises.

Eden flies at her legs, arms out, yelling “auntie Allie!” as Becca scrambles after her calling, “careful, careful, like we discussed!”

Becca heaves her daughter onto her hip and she makes faces at Allie over her mother’s shoulder. She asks curious questions about her eye, and even pokes a curious finger into her cheek. Allie can hear the girl complaining all around the house – not wanting to eat her peas, not wanting a bath, not wanting to go to bed.

Once she’s in bed, Becca joins her on the couch. “My daughter is the absolute worst,” she complains, throwing her legs over Allie.

Allie pats at her ankles. “Her mom’s pretty awful too.”

Becca flips her off.

*

Allie watches the familiar car pull up, and Bianca and Toby tumbling out. They’re all grins, jostling each other. Clucking their tongues through the railings to the horses.

“Harry’s been teaching them,” Becca tells her. “Hasn’t missed a lesson, apparently.”

Allie doesn’t believe she will ever get used to humans.

*

Allie joins them on the fifth Saturday. Harry scowls as she tries to saddle Indigo, and manoeuvres her out of the way by her shoulders. Toby leans against the fence next to Allie, waiting for his turn. Harry walks next to the black pony, talking softly to Bianca.

“Harry’s really nice,” Toby informs Allie. “But we’ve missed you.”

The soft April sun catches the tip of one of Harry’s curls and he’s looking over at her, shooting her a lazy grin.

“I’m not going anywhere else in a hurry, kid.”

*

The Saturday after, Karen turns up instead of Harry. Olivia comes with her.

“I think I’ve officially lost my horse,” the girl comments, her heels kicking at the railings. Indigo canters steadily around the arena, a look of wonder on Toby’s face as he clutches the reins tight. Karen yells at him to relax.

“I’m sure we can find you a new one,” Allie reassures her. “Or there’s always Jigsaw.”

Olivia pulls a face. “Harry says he’s been trying to get on Jigsaw’s good side for years and still hasn’t managed it.”

Allie has only ever been aware of Harry hating Jigsaw. But she thinks of the night he got colic, of Harry stroking his face gently.

“I think Jigsaw prefers girls,” Allie explains, trying to suppress a grin at the thought of Harry trying to win her horse over.

“Well he’s got the right idea.”

*

By seven weeks, her ribs have mostly healed. She calls Harry.

“Bingham. Fancy a trail ride this afternoon? I might even let you steal Indigo back, if you’re lucky.”

“Are you even medically fit?” Harry muses.

“Ribs all sorted, I can open my eye fully. I only get dizzy if I stand up really quickly, so I reckon I’m good to go.”

“Oh really?”

“Really. So you wanna get this show on the road? It looks like it’s going to be good weather today.”

“I’m in Texas, Pressman.” Allies’ breath catches somewhere in her chest. It’s not entirely clear why it takes her by surprise, because that is technically where he lives, where he works.

But her foot has dragged across the ground anyway, stilling the swing seat. “How long’s left on your contract?”

“A few weeks, if I don’t renew it.”

Allie takes a deep breath. “Don’t renew it.” There’s a silence.

“Why?”

“Well, you have a farm up here. And a sister who’s turning out to be pretty talented. You’re a highly esteemed junior coach. I think it makes sense to come home.”

“Are you asking me to?”

Her hand curls around the corner of the seat. “Yes.”

“Okay. Give me three weeks.”

She’s beginning to realise she’d probably give him a lot longer, if he needed it. There’s probably not a lot she wouldn’t give, if he asked her.

*

Karen borrows her truck and returns with three ponies.

“Meet Wish, Candy and Oscar,” she points them out individually, as they explore the paddock. “A friend of mine was looking to sell up – Candy and Oscar are good for beginners, and Wish is for Olivia.”

“They sound like stripper names.”

Karen looks at her.

Toby and Bianca are thrilled when they turn up and have a horse each.

“I think I might set up a summer programme,” Allie tells Karen as they lead Oscar and Candy back to the barn. Oscar is potentially the greediest horse she’s ever met, and constantly tries to tow her towards an enticing patch of green grass. Allie has to keep a weather eye on the pony to catch the moment before he swerves.

“Isn’t that what you’re already doing?”

They tie the horses and unsaddle them, brushing the sweat marks out of their coats.

“Not sure Harry will be too impressed though,” Allie feeds Oscar a sugar cube, the pony snuffling at her hand.

Karen’s paused and is looking at her. “Are you kidding? Everything you do impresses that boy. He’s insufferable whenever you don’t speak – and when you were in hospital, my God. I thought I was going to have to crowbar him out of my house to go back to Texas.”

Allie ducks her head to hide her grin.

*

Harry goes to a competition on the way back up and wins, which qualifies him for worlds.

He looks slightly wrecked as he climbs down from the cab. Allie is exercising Esprit, the mare becoming more used to the idea of working life.

“Best put yours out separately tonight so they can all say hi over the fence,” Allie calls over. Harry’s frowning at the new additions who have traipsed out the barn to investigate the new arrivals. Indigo calls to Fiji.

“Your horses seem to have multiplied, Pressman,” Harry unloads his one by one, releasing them in the paddock. Breeze takes a long drink whereas Ginny throws herself on the ground, laying flat out. Fiji marches over to the fence to investigate everyone else.

“Blame your mom,” Allie gives up on exercise and dismounts Esprit. “But they’ve sorted themselves out, as long as they have enough food.” She leads Esprit through the gate stops next to him, almost arm to arm. He looks down at her. “Hi. Welcome back.”

“Your nose has healed wonky,” he informs her. She shoves him against the railings.

*

Harry finds the forms on the kitchen table and confronts her on the swing seat. Hestia raises her head as he approaches.

“What’re these?” he demands, flapping the pages.

“An application to become a charity.”

“Well, I can read that.”

“Why did you ask then?”

He looks at her in frustration. “Were you going to tell me?”

Allie hums lightly. “Maybe. Would you stop me doing it?”

“I think I’ve learnt by now that I can’t stop you from doing anything, Pressman.”

Harry stomps back inside.

*

They have to be background checked. Allie idly fills out all of her friend’s names, just in case.

The approval comes within two weeks. Allie starts contacting local schools to ask whether any of their students would be interested in a summer programme with horses. One invites her to go in and speak to the kids.

Becca watches in amusement from her bed as she fusses about her outfit.

“Is this serious enough?” Allie asks, smoothing her hands down a pants suit Cassie was going to throw out but instead gave to Allie.

“You look like you’re going to court.” It’s the outfit that she’s picked out for the court date for Campbell’s trial next week.

Allie tugs it off in frustration, dropping it on the floor. “Well, what should I wear?”

“Just wear something you usually wear – but clean, nice versions.”

She ends up in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Becca blow-dries her hair so it falls in nice bouncy curls. Harry’s pulling up in his obnoxious Maserati as she leaves the house.

“You look nice,” his eyes flicker over her shortly, appraising. “Hot date?”

“I wish,” she unlocks her truck. Frowns at the front wheel and kicks at it a little. “I’m going to do a talk at a school.”

“Oh,” something passes briefly over his face. “Good luck. Let me know how it goes.”

Olivia’s at the talk, which calms her somewhat. She asks the first question at the end, pretending she doesn’t know Allie. The talk definitely generates a buzz within the class.

“I think you’ll get quite a lot of interest,” the teacher says at the end. He has curly brown hair, blue eyes, and a pretty riveting smile. “Also, it’s potential free childcare for parents.”

“I hope so. I should probably invest in some insurance.”

“If you ever want a hand, or some advice, let me know,” the teacher passes her his number in a piece of paper. Allie tucks it into her jean pocket, flattered.

*

The indoor arena construction finishes in July. Allie pretends to swing a bottle of champagne at it, like they do at ships, but the bottle slips from her hands and smashes against the side, chipping a board.

Her dad sighs at her loudly, then helps brush all the glass shards into a pile.

“Excellent work, Pressman,” Harry congratulates her drily later on. She’s had more than a few glasses of champagne.

“Well it wasn’t all me,” she tops his glass up with the bottle in her hand. “Cheers. To our farm.”

He taps his glass against hers. He’s looking at her almost softly. “Cheers.”

*

Becca organises a joint clinic in July. People bring a variety of horses, all with different issues. One’s a familiar face.

“Zara!” Allie hugs the girl. “How’re you?”

“I’m good, I’m good. This place has definitely changed.” She looks around the yard; at the new indoor arena, at the communal barn in the paddocks. At Jigsaw vaguely chasing Fiji off a patch of grass he wants. Chickens scratch in the dirt. “It suits you, though.”

Harry’s coming up behind her, fingers brushing her shoulder. “Allie – we’ve got to get started, Becca’s losing her nut – oh, hey Zara.”

“Hi, Harry. Well, I’ll let you two get on.”

“Sure – nice to see you, Zara,” Allie says honestly. “Maybe come for drinks in the house afterwards? I think Grizz has baked some bread,” she says the latter mostly as an aside to Harry, whose eyes brighten.

“God, I hope he has. He does do good bread. Definitely better than his woodwork,” Allie swats at his shoulder. “But now – clinic.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming. Bye, Zara!”

Clinics are always nerve racking. People are looking for quick solutions, to be amazed. Like some sort of magician’s show. But someone once said never to work with animals or children, and that has never been truer than with horses.

They work with groundwork and ridden issues. Fall into the same rhythms. Allie knows when to catch his eye, when to concede and let him make his point.

“You two work surprisingly well together,” Becca says around a mouthful of bread. It’s tomato and rosemary, picked fresh from the garden. Allie thinks she may be in love with it.

She tells Grizz that, tucked against his side. He wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Are you sure it’s my bread you’re in love with?”

“Maybe your vegetables, but definitely forget I told you that because I’ll never hear the end of it,” he’s grinning at her, and her head is against his chest.

Harry is talking to Zara, who laughs prettily at something he says.

“Are we doing anything about that?” Grizz tips his chin towards the pair.

Allie squints at him. “Harry deserves to be happy.”

“To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves,” Grizz quotes loftily.

“I never know what you’re saying. Oh wait – I think Grizz has escaped.”

Grizz’s head jerks around, and then the familiar sight of the black and white goat comes into view. Grizz passes her his glass and takes off running.

Sam joins her, his eyebrows raised at the man as he tries to corral the goat. “Your boyfriend is an idiot,” Allie tells her cousin.

_“A fucking hot idiot, though.”_

She can’t disagree with that.

*

Everyone else leaves and it’s just the core group left – Sam, Grizz, Kelly, Becca, Harry and Will. Allie wonders when Harry started being one of the core ones. Watches him, as he tosses Eden into the air, and wonders whether she’s ever not counted him as one of them.

She walks to the bathroom upstairs, past Eden’s room, and the door is cracked open. Harry’s sitting on the floor leaning against the girl’s bed, reading dramatically from a book. He looks up at the movement, grins at her, then carries on.

When he comes downstairs, she drags him to the kitchen and insists he makes her a drink. “That really sweet one with the strawberries,” she has to demand in a whisper, because Grizz gets offended if anyone does anything but eat his strawberries plain and in rapture.

He crushes the strawberries with a knife and adds mint that Grizz snips into neat bundles and stores on the windowsill in pint glasses.

It’s delicious, as always. Harry’s watching her, and she’s smiling over the rim of her glass.

“Zara asked whether I want to go on a date,” he’s running the tap and rinsing the knife.

“Oh,” Allie blinks twice. “She’s really nice.”

Harry hums, leans against the counter. “Should I go?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

He’s about to reply, frowning at her, when Grizz marches into the kitchen looking aghast.

“Bingham, you better not be adulterating my strawberries.”

Allie hides the contents of her glass with her hands, and they both turn innocent eyes upon Grizz.

*

Allie’s not entirely sure when everyone moved in. Sam’s here more often than not because his parents are extremely tense about Campbell, and Grizz is here mostly because of Sam but also because of his vegetables.

Will has got a job nearby following graduating college and turns up one day with his bags. He says it’s temporary (especially when he slips over in chicken poop) but he doesn’t seem to be making any active effort to move.

Kelly is over between shifts at work, and Harry comes to the barn once or twice a day to check and work with his horses. Sometimes he leaves immediately but other times he comes into the house, joins them for dinner. At weekends and some evenings Olivia joins him and he gives her a lesson.

Elle comes and goes, still renting a room from Helena and Luke. Allie asks her to move in as well, but she declines. Allie thinks it’s jolting for the girl to see Sam so much.

Kelly joins her in the swing seat with a glass of peach iced tea. “I’m thinking of going to medical school,” the girl admits in a slight rush. “But I think I’m too old.”

Allie looks at her. “You’re in your early twenties.”

Kelly squints, grins a little. “I feel a lot older. I mean, Eden’s almost four.”

The fact never fails to shock Allie and she nods in agreement. “I think you’d be the best doctor, if that means anything. You’d always listen properly and never dismiss anyone.” Kelly looks slightly disbelieving. “No, really. You cared about Harry even when you broke up. You taught me to drive, You’re really good with Eden, and I think everyone here thinks you’re the nicest person ever.”

Kelly’s blushing faintly, looking at her knees. “You’re pretty nice too, Allie.”

Allie throws an arm around her shoulders, knocking the glass in her hand. Peached iced tea splatters on the porch.

*

Will’s the one who finds the dog. Of everyone, he is the least of a farm boy. But he comes into the kitchen shirtless, his shirt in a bundle in his arms. Allie vaguely sees a small fluffy head poking out from the fabric.

“I saw him on the road,” Will explains. “It took me like half an hour to catch him.”

The dog is quite young and extremely thin. He whimpers as Will places him gently on the table. Allie unwraps the fabric to assess him. He’s sandy coloured, and has a wound on his side. He whimpers and snaps his teeth at Allie when she prods it, but then licks her wrist in an apology.

The wound is scabbing over, not too recent. Allie makes Will hold the dog’s muzzle down whilst she cleans it out. The dog keeps licking at his side, so Becca finds an old baby grow of Eden’s and they put it on the dog.

Harry walks into the house and sees a strange dog frolicking around in a baby gro.

“Do I even want to know?” he asks.

Will is looking hopefully at Allie. Allie sighs, relenting. “We can keep him, but only if no one responds to fliers.”

Hestia is thoroughly offended by the newcomer. She sulks on the couch, or on Allie’s bed. Follows Allie around closely.

Eden names the new puppy Cookie and ties a piece of string to his collar, leading him around the farm. Becca takes some extremely cute pictures of the pair.

*

Harry saunters into the house in a light blue button down and chinos.

“Nice shirt,” Allie comments mildly. Sam looks up from the mixing bowl.

_“What’s he all dressed up for?”_

“Sam wants to know what you’re all dressed up for,” Allie translates.

“Well, Sam,” Harry waits for the ginger to be looking at his lips. “I have a date.”

Sam looks sideways at Allie.

“Shit,” Sam says out loud, which usually means something’s really bad. Allie and Harry both look at him, surprised.

“Smells good,” Grizz’s hand brushes across Sam’s back as he passes. His hands form the sign, less faltering than they have been previously, and Sam positively beams at him.

_“Harry’s got a date,”_ Sam informs his boyfriend.

Grizz looks between Allie and Harry with wide eyes. “Fuck. Okay.”

Allie looks at Harry in confusion to find him staring at her with an almost loaded gaze. “Well, have fun,” she tells him. “Say hi to Zara for me.”

When Harry leaves, both Sam and Grizz are staring at her.

_“Idiot.”_

_*_

Campbell gets sentenced on a dull Thursday, and Allie escapes to the barn with her dog when she hears the news.

She spends hours reorganising the feed area, shifting and clattering the metal bins they use to keep rodents out of the grain. She hammers up shelves that have been leaning against the wall for far too long, and even starts hosing and scrubbing the floor clean with a brush.

Harry leans against the wall, watching her. She stops scrubbing at the floor and wipes her eyes with her hand.

“It’s not enough,” her voice breaks a little. “Ten years? Eight years for me and two for Elle? He abused her for _years_ – he tried to drown her, he burnt her, he tortured her, and the jury decides I’m worth more?”

“They had to throw some of her evidence out,” Harry’s voice is gentle. “You know that jeopardised some of the charges. And domestic abuse charges are notoriously difficult to obtain.”

Allie had only attended court on the day she’d been required to give evidence. Sat opposite Campbell and tried to maintain eye contact, prove to him that she’d won. Because her pain was temporary, but the loss of control over his own life was for something which would seem like an eternity.

“Eight years is barely any time at all,” she’s crying harder, folding her arms around her body. “I bet he’s out in half of that, for good behaviour.”

Suddenly she’s crying properly, sobbing maybe, elbows pressed into her stomach. Then Harry’s holding her, one arm around her waist, the other around her head. “I thought I was going to die,” she cries into his shoulder, her hands making fists in the fabric. “Harry, I wanted to die.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” his lips are on her forehead. “He can’t get you; he’s not going to, I promise.”

He holds her until she’s finished crying, until she’s pulling away and wiping her eyes. “Sorry about your shirt,” there’s damp patches and potentially snot all over it. Harry’s watching her carefully. “Oh – how was your date?”

His hands look awkward now that they’re not holding her, and he slides them into the back pockets of his jeans. “Not great. She said that she now remembers why we broke up in the first place.”

“I’m sorry, Harry.”

He shrugs. “It’s okay. I don’t think she’s quite my type.”

Allie’s still wiping her eyes. Picking up the broom again. “Well, you’ll find someone.”

He’s smiling thinly, looking away. “Yeah, I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just want to say a massive thank you to everyone who's on board with this wildly lengthy now novel. especially to those who don't even know anything about horses but are still on this ride until the bitter end
> 
> i don't think there's long to go now folks!


	10. ten.

*

The first kids for the summer programme arrive on a Monday, and Allie spends all of Sunday whipping herself into a frenzy.

Grizz, Sam and Becca watch mildly from the couch as she paces up and down in front of them.

“What if I suck? What if they hate horses? Is this a really bad idea?”

“They’re not paying, horses are pretty cool, and you probably will suck at first, but I will reiterate: they’re not paying,” Becca reassures her.

_“You can always stop doing it,”_ Sam suggests, _“if it goes really badly.”_

“Which obviously, it won’t,” Grizz shoots his boyfriend a look. “You’ll be great. They’ll probably be too scared to touch a horse for the first hour. It’ll be fine.”

It doesn’t feel fine the next morning, but Allie sets about doing all the morning chores of giving the horses their grain and making sure they don’t all try and steal each other’s. Then she takes Candy, Oscar, Indigo and Snowy up to the barn attached to the indoor arena and ties them up a safe distance apart, in case they become grouchy.

Grizz brings out a jug of water and some plastic cups and sets them on the table outside. Harry raises a hand in greeting before he disappears into the lower barn.

The first car pulls up five minutes late. Allie curls one hand into Snowy’s halter.

*

“I think it went okay,” Allie announces cautiously, as Harry unsaddles Fiji. He’s careful with his horse, deliberate, stroking a hand down his head. The gelding leans into his touch, closes his honey brown eyes and rests his muzzle on him. It’s the sort of trust built on years of friendship. Allie tries not to be jealous – really. Even when Jigsaw chases her away or pins his ears and lifts a back leg.

“It looked like it did,” Fiji shifts as Harry steps away to get a damp sponge, wiping it over the sweat marks the saddle has left on the horses’ back. “I heard one of them saying you were hot as they got in the car, as well.”

“Ew, objectification,” Allie protests, but she’s secretly a little flattered. Which she probably shouldn’t be, considering they were kids.

Harry looks at her as though he knows what she’s thinking. “Are you flattered by high school kids’ opinion of you?”

“Everyone’s a narcissist at heart, Bingham.”

“I suppose they weren’t wrong. You are kind of hot - in a shitty farmer way.”

Allie throws hay at him.

*

Each class is for six people, and Allie works out a vague schedule which incorporates the fundamentals of horse care, of horse behaviour, and of learning to ride. The kids are usually well behaved on the first few days, eyes wide at the sheer size of horses, and then on the last day they’re even a little unruly, laughing, riding around in walk and a steady, bumbling trot with confidence.

It takes Allie a few weeks to realise that not all of them necessarily have lunch with them. So, she enlists Grizz who makes batch lunches of pasta or sandwiches on homemade bread. A few show an interest in cooking, so Allie send them in an hour before to help.

Many hang around after the necessary hours, cooing over the goats. One kid wants to help Grizz in the garden.

The parents are invited to come and watch on Fridays, but many come once and then find it all a bit dull. The benefit is in the doing, not of watching their child in a round pen trying to control a horse through body language.

“You have to consider what your body is saying,” Allie tells one kid called Leo, who glares at everyone, hunches his shoulders around his neck and tells everyone to _fuck off_. Indigo is on the other side of the round pen, watching him warily. “They’re prey animals, so they’re going to run away if they feel under threat. You’ve got to relax and be calm for them to let you near them.”

Allie keeps half an eye on the boy on the horse and diverts everyone else’s attention from them by putting them to work cleaning out the barn. They complain a lot, but whoever finishes their designated section first gets first ride, so they all work quickly.

Allie checks on Leo from a distance, and she has to fight to keep a wide grin of her face. In the absence of anyone else, he’s relaxed his posture, and is buckling the halter onto Indigo’s head. He pauses once it’s buckled, and then touches one hand between the mare’s eyes, on her forehead.

Leo looks around as Allie approaches, and snatches his hand away. “Stupid horse ran around for ages,” he complains bitterly. “You should train them better.” Indigo pushes her muzzle into Allie’s palm and breathes out in a huff. “This is a stupid programme.”

“Okay,” Allie takes the rope from him, starts leading Indigo away. “You don’t have to come back tomorrow.”

Leo does come back. Allie doesn’t comment.

After a week, Indigo is marching up to Leo, all wariness gone. Allie thinks she sees the boy smile triumphantly as he offers her a mint, palm flat, thumb tucked under, just like Allie has taught them.

*

It’s Harry who turns up with two rescue horses. Allie wants to cry when he leads the mare and then the gelding down the ramp. The mare in particular looks like a walking skeleton; her coat teems with lice, and her head hangs listlessly. Her hooves drag as she stumbles down the ramp. The gelding still has some fight left in him, and he trots slowly around the paddock Harry puts them in before settling and cropping at the grass.

Harry had gone to the auction to see whether there was anything he could add to his own string of horses. Allie looks between him and the new additions.

“I couldn’t exactly leave them there, could I,” he’s petulant, defensive. Quite sad, Allie thinks.

They make a mash and offer it to the mare who only eats a quarter. Harry looks drawn and defeated, so Allie leans against his side.

“If she doesn’t make it through the night, at least she’s had the sun on her back, some good food, and some company,” Allie tells him quietly. The rest of the horses mill around the other side of the railings, interested in the new arrivals.

“People are really shit.”

“Yeah, but they’re also really wonderful. Can’t have the smooth without the rough.”

Harry stays quiet. Allie wraps an arm around his waist.

*

The mare makes it through the night, and Harry stays with her for the most of the next day. He carries buckets of warm water down from the house and treats her with lice shampoo, talking gently as he does so.

Allie still has the programme, but they clamour around the paddock of the new horses and ask questions about the two horses. The gelding stands at a distance, watching.

“They don’t have names at the moment, so if anyone has any ideas let me know,” Allie tells them all, and they’re all alternating between watching her and watching Harry as he leads the emaciated mare from the barn and into the sunlight.

“Why don’t you turn into a rescue?” one child, Lizzie, asks her. She’s waiting on the fence next to Allie for her turn, watching everyone walking and trotting around the arena.

Allie hums, squinting at the group. She calls, “Jack, relax your calves! Oscar weights half a ton – you’re not going to be able to force him to do anything. Remember, persuade, suggest, don’t force.”

Lizzie’s still looking at her. “Maybe,” Allie concedes. “But I’ve got the programme at the moment, so one thing at a time.”

*

Harry feeds the mare by hand for three days, and persuades her to walk gently around the paddock. He has to enlist Allie’s help when she struggles to get up from the floor, but they manage to get her upright.

On the fifth day she starts picking at grass, and Allie swears every line in Harry’s body slumps with relief.

“What you going to name her?” Allie asks, as he brushes her coat. The brush dips with the sharp lines of her bones.

“Luna, probably,” the answer is quick.

“Seriously? Ginny and Luna, and you’re Harry.”

He’s ducked to pick up one of the mare’s feet, clucking his tongue encouragingly. The horse shifts, picks it up. He looks at her from under the mare’s belly, his face sideways. “You called your paint Jigsaw, and your mare after a cartoon horse movie,” he points out.

“Yours is infinitely nerdier, Bingham. How were you ever a hit with the women?”

He places the mare’s foot down gently, pats at her neck. “Wonders never cease, I guess.”

*

Allie doesn’t really notice it until Becca starts filming them, trying to do some promotional material.

But Harry Bingham is subtly helping her with the programme.

Whether she’s standing in the barn with four horses and trying to simultaneously assist the kids with saddling up, or whether it’s that new brooms materialise when Esprit stands on and cracks one, or whether when he steps in and takes over a lesson when Allie needs to split them in half and spend more time with one student.

“Don’t you have a life?” she asks him as he helps sort through equipment in the tack room. The kids meant well, but they couldn’t hang a bridle correctly to save their lives.

“Would you rather I did?”

Harry seemed to have taken a leaf out of Grizz’s book recently and talk in half a conversation, or with a cryptic tone. It’s a little tiring. Especially because after the programme, Allie works a shift at the diner to ensure she makes the mortgage payments. She’s been missing dinner with everyone in the house and collapses into bed after midnight each night. She won’t admit it, but it’s making her grouchy. The kids get the majority of her patience.

“You are annoying,” she doesn’t look at him. “But I guess I’m used to it, now.”

“You’d be lost without me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Bingham.”

*

As it turns out, she is. Harry goes to a competition and is gone for a week. Even some of the kids ask where he is.

The evening is drawing in and the air is a lot cooler. She should go inside and get a blanket, but instead Hestia curls up next to her. Allie doesn’t even realise what she’s waiting for until Harry’s truck bumps its way down the drive.

She’s at the cab door as he climbs down. Grins at him. “Hey.”

Hestia’s jumping all over him, paws on his knees. “Heya, beautiful,” he croons at her, and Allie thinks for a short moment that she wouldn’t mind that greeting to be directed at her. “Hey, Pressman.”

“Good drive?”

“Eh,” they both walk to the back of the truck, unlatch the ramp and pull it down. “Not too bad. Is it me, or is the novelty wearing off a bit?”

Allie hums. “Definitely. Why don’t you think I’ve not competed this year?”

“Because you’re too busy playing hero?” he looks at her as he unties Fiji’s rope. “Talking of which, how’s my main girl Luna?”

“Doing well. She chased Moose off some hay the other day, so I think she’ll be a sassy one.” The kids had called the other rescue Moose because he was big and brown and there was a debate as to whether he possessed a single brain cell.

“As if I don’t have enough sassy women in my life,” Harry complains.

“You love it.”

“Sure I do.”

*

Campbell appeals his sentence and it’s all over her social media.

Allie doesn’t come out of bed. She thinks Harry runs the programme for the day. She can hear the kids all coming in for lunch, a cacophony of noise and clattering of plates.

Harry brings her a glass of raspberry cordial and a plate of misshapen brownies. “Elle’s recipe,” he promises, and he kicks off his shoes and leans against the headboard beside her.

It should be embarrassing, maybe, to have someone in her room whilst she feels so vulnerable. Instead she drinks the cordial and eats a brownie, sitting up next to him.

“How’re the kids?”

“They’re fine. Leo’s a little less psychopathic, I think. They’re all trying to help with Luna which is sweet. Lizzie brought a whole bag of apples today. I think Grizz is going to give some to the goats.”

“They’re so spoilt,” Allie sighs, and she takes another brownie and tries to ignore Harry’s triumphant look.

“Probably. I definitely reckon Grizz escapes for the attention.” There’s no denying it.

Allie pushes Hestia’s head away as she tries to take a bite out of a brownie.

“I’m sorry I doubted the programme,” Harry says after a silence. “I think it’s actually really good. It’s a crazy idea, and we’ve definitely violated so many safety regulations, but it’s good.”

“Did you just apologise, and admit I was right?” Allie stares at him. “Is it April Fools day? Are all the planets in line?” She holds a brownie crumbed hand to his forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

He turns his head, so her hand is in his hair. She doesn’t drop it. It’s weird, but not overly strange. His hair is soft, downy. Allie is tempted to tug her fingers through the curls. He says, “don’t let Campbell ruin this for you. Please.”

Allie snatches her hand away from him.

*

Becca shows Allie the promotional footage she’s taken to endorse the programme. She’s only taken shots of the backs of the kids, or obscured their faces with shadows, but she’s focussed primarily on Allie. When she’s teaching, or helping them saddle up or brush down.

There are also several long, lingering shots of her and Harry.

“God, this is like a shitty budget romcom trailer,” she complains at the third shot. Her and Harry stand side by side in the ring, surrounded by horses. Harry’s smiling down at Allie as she calls out instructions.

“I’m only working with what I’ve got,” Becca says sweetly. Allie makes her edit them out before posting on social media.

*

It’s a Sunday and Allie has a rare day completely off. She goes for a long trail ride on Jigsaw, then works a little with Esprit. It starts raining at lunchtime, which is typical, but the house is full of people and she invites her parents around for dinner. Then Karen, Harry and Olivia, because they’re all down at the barn anyway.

Allie cooks pasta because it’s all she knows how to do. But it’s with tomatoes she picks from the greenhouse, and basil she snips from the bush. Grizz has made garlic infused bread which she toasts and butters, and she makes cookies and ice cream for pudding.

Eden declares she is the best cookie maker ever, which gravely offends Becca.

Later on, she sits on her swing seat under a blanket, Becca’s feet on her lap. Becca has a rare glass of wine in one hand, and Allie is slightly tipsy from those strawberry drinks Harry keeps making her. It’s still raining, the odd drop dripping onto them.

“I think you need to take a break once you’ve finished the programme,” Becca tells her. She digs her heels into Allie’s thighs until Allie gives in and rubs her legs. Becca’s big on physical contact. “Then try and figure out what comes next.”

“I should probably figure out a way to make some money,” Allie sighs. She sips through her straw. “I don’t even look at the bank account any more, but I’m sure the card will be declined soon.”

Becca makes a disbelieving noise. “We all know that’s unlikely to happen.”

Allie shrugs. She thinks she knows why. She does have some independence – she makes the mortgage money from the shifts she works at the diner. But she hasn’t bought a single grocery shop in months, and she hasn’t seen any bills. No one pays any rent, but they definitely all contribute in some way. Harry bulk orders horse feed and bedding, and new equipment just turns up.

“We’ll all help you, Allie,” Becca’s voice is surprisingly gentle. “We all love you. Funnily enough, I was actually _in_ love with you, for a bit.”

Allie’s head snaps to her in surprise. “What? When?!”

“High school. Senior year. Then you were dating Will, and then there was that weird thing with Harry you never talked to me about, and then there was Eden. And I realised I didn’t want to lose my best friend.”

“Shit,” Allie blinks rapidly, trying to absorb the information. “Shit, Becca. I’m sorry.”

Becca digs her toes into Allie’s knee, kicks at her stomach. “Don’t be stupid. Besides, I’ve found someone better now. Who’s actually into women.”

The door opens, and Hestia runs out, shortly followed by Harry.

“Becca – Eden’s asking for you.”

Becca stands up, places the blanket back over Allie. Allie has more questions, feels like she needs more answers, but instead she stares as her friend heads back into the house.

“You okay? You look like someone’s just snapped your Spirit DVD.”

Allie’s gaze shifts to Harry, who’s let the door shut behind Becca and is leaning against the brickwork of the house with one shoulder.

“It’s on Netflix now – get with the times, grandpa.” Allie takes a big gulp of her drink. “Becca’s just told me she was in love with me in high school. What the fuck?”

“Well, you are pretty irresistible, Pressman,” he says nonchalantly.

“She’s one of my best friends! How did I not notice?!”

“Not sure.” He swallows, licks his lips. He’s shifted from leaning to standing, his arms loose by his sides. “You’ve not noticed me either, and that’s been about a decade. And counting.”

Allie stares. Harry looks out at the rain, but then looks back at her. As though he’s waiting for something. But she can’t do anything but stare, look blankly at him.

The door opens behind him, and Karen and Olivia come out, shrugging on jackets and shaking out an umbrella.

Something shutters down over Harry’s face, something cool and detached. “I just came to say we’re going now. See you tomorrow?”

Allie nods numbly.

*

It’s definitely not the best location to have a potentially serious discussion. The air is filled with chatter from the kids, and from horses as they shift around the barn.

Allie joins Harry as he saddles Indigo.

“About last night,” she starts, and that gets his attention. He looks at her. The rehearsed speech Allie had been practicing all morning disappears, and instead she stares at Indigo’s neck.

Harry leans down to buckle up the girth. “It doesn’t change anything, Allie. I’m pretty used to how things are, at this point.” He doesn’t even sound sad, or angry with her. Somehow, that’s worse.

She looks at him. Harry smiles. It’s a smile that only seems reserved for her. Smaller, but more genuine. It makes her feel a little sick.

*

Things don’t change, which is simultaneously a relief and a frustration. Allie doesn’t know how to process things. Harry increasingly helps with the programme. He joins them for dinner, or helps Grizz in the garden or greenhouse.

They host an end of programme barbeque, which is Becca’s idea. Harry suggests combining it with a showcase by the kids for their parents. They’re all suddenly buzzing with renewed vigour, arguing with each other over who’s going to ride which horse and what they’re going to do.

On the day, it rains. Allie is eternally grateful for the indoor school.

“It’s fine,” Grizz reassures her. “You can do the showcase in the morning, then we’ll do the grill in the indoor. It’s all cool.”

Harry ropes in Karen and Olivia to help. They announce each rider and horse via the megaphone as they enter into the arena. The riding isn’t world class, but it’s sympathetic and gentle, and the horses respond easily. The parents clap proudly and take an inordinate number of photographs.

Allie is strict about the kids helping out on the ground, so she herds them all to assist with unsaddling and brushing down. The ponies crunch gratefully on mints and apples the kids sneak to them.

Soon, the smell of lit coals fills the arena. Grizz and Sam bring in the garden furniture, and then the bowls of all the food Grizz and a couple of the kids have prepared. Parents and kids buzz around, showing each other clips on their phones. Hestia is overcome with the occasion, and darts around seeking attention. Cookie the puppy is cooed over, and only pees on one person’s shoes.

A couple of people draw Allie aside to express their gratitude. Allie’s never been good at taking compliments and once she develops a sense that someone may be making a beeline to give one, she pulls Harry into the conversation by his sleeve. Harry keeps half an eye on her all afternoon, raising his eyebrows and smirking each time she gets cornered by a parent.

“You do know he’s in love with you, right? Harry.” Grizz flips a burger off the grill onto her plate.

“Yeah,” Allie busies herself by tweezing salad she’s probably not going to eat onto her paper plate. “He, uh, kinda told me.”

“What’s stopping you?”

Allie sighs, tired and frustrated all at once. “We’ve been friends since we were – what, eight? He owns part of this farm, and he’s keeping all of this afloat,” she gestures at the crowd with her plate. “I don’t want to jeopardise that. It seems selfish. I’d rather have him as friend then not at all.”

“You literally live with your ex,” Grizz’s voice is mild, but his gaze is steady on her. “You’re too stubborn to not let him be your friend.”

“Harry’s not like Will,” Allie doesn’t quite know how to put it into words. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

Allie hopes Grizz doesn’t quote some great work. She’s braced for it, shoulders tense. Instead he shrugs, lightly. “You’ll figure it out.”

*

“Some hot, single mom gave me her number,” Harry drops down next to her, on uneven plastic chairs.

“Woah, what a cougar,” Allie’s sorting through the donations box. She hadn’t wanted Becca to put it out, thinking it may put undue pressure on the attendees. But Becca insisted she’d make it anonymous.

There’s not just money in there. There’re notes as well. Allie smooths them out and hands them to Harry, a lump in her throat. It’s a little overwhelming.

“Maybe I’ll go on a date with her,” Harry opens the first note and squints at it. “That could be fun.”

It hangs in the air, nonchalant. Forcefully casual.

“Don’t.” Harry’s head turns to her quickly at the soft word. “I – um. I think I’d appreciate it, if you didn’t date. For a bit.” 

His grin splits his face, all teeth and wide eyes. “Oh really?”

“On second thoughts, do,” there’s a faint blush on her cheeks.

“Nah. I’ll save myself, for now.” He concentrates on the note. “Hey, this one says I have a nice butt.” Allie rolls her eyes.

*

Allie rings her sister.

“Is it weird if I date Harry? We’ve been friends for so long and he co-owns the farm – is it weird?”

“What’s weirder is that you’re not dating him,” Cassie sounds vaguely exasperated, but also fond. “Does this mean you’re going to date him now? Please do.”

“I thought you didn’t like him.”

“Nah, I stopped with that when I realised he’d probably commit murder for you.”

“He’s kind of a rich, spoilt asshole. With some substance abuse issues. And probably some unresolved daddy issues.”

Cassie laughs. “You’re hardly perfect. No one is. If I listed all my flaws, Gordie would ditch me in a second.”

“I’m scared,” Allie whispers. “I don’t want things to change and be ruined. Life’s pretty good right now.”

“I think it’s already changed, Al. You’ve just not kept up with it.”

*

Allie marches up to Harry before her resolve can weaken.

“Are you free this Friday?” she demands. He’s measuring out grain into buckets, but looks up at her.

“Not sure – I think me and Olivia might be going to the movies. Why?”

It’s like a drawing pin to her balloon of self-confidence, and she deflates. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter.”

Harry straightens up, frowns at her. “Why?”

“Was just checking whether you’re free. For a date,” his eyebrows knit together. “With me.”

“Maybe I can rearrange with Olivia,” he scoops more grain out from a bin, tone casual.

“Okay. Well, um, let me know.”

And she marches off again, cheeks blazing.

*

Harry texts her that he’s free late on Thursday evening. Allie quickly sets about making sure no one is in in the evening. No one even asks her why. Becca arranges to go to Kelly’s with Eden; Will goes to his new girlfriend’s; Sam and Grizz go to Grizz’s parents for dinner.

Grizz has written out the recipe for the chicken, white wine and Dijon mustard dish that Harry always raves about. Allie stands in the kitchen, alternating between squinting at the recipe and stirring the ingredients gingerly in the pan. She’s put on the green summer dress she owns and even curled her hair. Until it had all started getting in the way, at which point she’d thrown it into a bun. The steam from the stove has made it go all frizzy.

The door opens and Hestia runs to greet the newcomer. Allie’s dimmed the lights and wedged candles into wine bottles so the wax drips down the sides. The lighting flickers in what she hopes is an atmospheric way.

“Hey,” she looks up from the recipe. Harry’s wearing a shirt Allie prefers on him, a green plaid rather than a formal button down. “I brought you these,” and he places a cardboard box with a clear plastic window on the counter. It’s all her favourite chocolates, from the stupidly fancy chocolate counter of the fancy kitsch sweet store in town. 

“Hi. Nice shirt. And - thank you.”

Something sizzles on the stove and she turns to it quickly, snatching a pan from the heat. A little sauce spills over onto the floor, and Allie pushes Hestia away with her foot until it cools down sufficiently. Harry’s watching her, a smile threatening to pull at his lips.

“Drink,” it occurs to her. “Wine, beer? Fancy making me something fancy and sweet and complaining about it?”

He does smile then, and looks away. Allie doesn’t know if she can cope with this version of Harry, but she can hardly say that to him now.

“I think I can take a hint.” He moves around the kitchen easily, retrieving liquor from the tallest cupboard and strawberries from the top of the fridge. It’s an easy, companionable rhythm, and Allie instantly feels calmer when he hands her a drink and she takes the first sip. It may be her imagination, but there seems more alcohol under the sweetness of the strawberries than usual.

They clink their glasses, as they always do. Their fingers don’t brush. In fact, they haven’t touched once; Harry is carefully skirting around her personal space.

Allie checks the oven, pulls out a pan of potatoes. “Okay, I think we’re good to go.”

She’s impressed with herself, as she places the chicken and the potatoes on the table. Then creamed spinach and honey roasted carrots.

“Damn, Pressman,” he even sounds impressed, and Allie grins fleetingly over the rim of her glass. “Did Grizz put you up to this?”

“He may have helped,” her tone is prim. “But I’m not completely useless in the kitchen.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think you can persuade me that your average baking efforts make you a decent chef.”

“You once rang your mom to ask her how to boil an egg!”

They eat in silence for a while, and they’re both drinking in large gulps. It feels like there’s a band around Allie’s chest and it’s tight, unyielding.

“Allie-“

“Harry-“

His eyes are amused. “You first.”

Allie’s flustered, thrown off course. “Okay. Well. Are we making a mistake, here? Is this weird? I feel like it’s a bit weird. Have we been friends for too long?”

His hands have fisted around his cutlery. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he says, mostly to his chicken.

“I know.”

“How about we just eat dinner?”

That sounds simple enough. Manageable. “Okay.” The band eases a little, and she enjoys the next bite. “You know, I’ve always thought dinner was a weird first date to have.”

“We’re eating dinner right now.”

“I meant more for people who don’t know each other. Surely you live in a state of constant paranoia that you’re going to get sauce around your mouth, or drop something down your top. Or eat too much garlic and stink when you get up close and personal.”

“These potatoes have a lot of garlic.”

Allie tries to ignore the inference, but thinks her cheeks give her away. “We’re both eating them, so that cancels it out.”

“I’m not sure that’s quite how it works.”

“Basic biology, actually.”

They finish dinner and Allie melts chocolate in the microwave. When she turns around with the bowl, Harry’s very close to her. He’s reaching over her for the bottle of vodka, knife for the strawberries in one hand.

Allie flinches back, the sight too familiar. Bile rises in her throat, and she can vaguely hear Harry saying, “shit, Allie – I’m sorry,” but her breath is coming in gasps. It passes quicker than last time, although she looks at him with what must be wild eyes.

He’s looking incredibly frustrated, his eyes hard and jaw flinty. He doesn’t say anything, but he’s taken the bowl of melted chocolate and stands five feet away from her. Allie takes a step forwards, and he takes one backwards.

“I’m okay,” she says, and it’s only vaguely a lie.

“Just – go sit outside. I’ll bring these out.”

Allie takes a thick blanket and Hestia and sits on the swing seat. It rocks gently at her weight. Hestia presses into her knee. She feels the empty, encompassing sadness that usually precedes a body-wracking crying marathon.

The door opening makes her jump, but it’s just Harry trying to balance two bowls and two drinks. Allie relieves him of hers as he gets closer. He sits on the far end of the seat, not touching her.

He’s sliced strawberries into the bowl, and found the mint chocolate chip ice cream. It’s not a flavour combination that should work together, but it definitely does.

The seat rocks as she picks her feet up from the floor and lays them across his lap. Harry looks at her for the first time since coming outside.

“The kitchen can be triggering,” Allie says eventually, and she hasn’t really talked to anyone about it. Just assumed that people can tell that she always takes Hestia with her when she goes there, or sometimes it takes a moment before she summons the courage to go in. “It’s not because of you. I know it’s stupid, and irrational, but…”

“I think that’s probably a normal reaction,” he’s placed a hand on her ankle, under the blanket. His thumb sweeps over her ankle bone. “Anxiety or anything else are rarely rational.”

“Therapy’s really working for you, huh?”

Harry takes his hand off her ankle and stares into his bowl. Allie misses the warmth. “I like to think so.”

“You’re definitely less of an asshole than you were in high school,” Allie reassures him. “You acknowledge me in public, so that’s progress.”

“Definitely. You know – the ignoring started because I had a massive, blazing crush on you in middle school, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. So, I asked my dad and he said girls like it if you’re a bit mean to them, so when you’re nice it seems better.”

Allie scoffs. “That is the worst advice ever. When I have a daughter, I’m going to tell her to punch any guy that treats her like shit in the face.”

Allie sucks all traces of chocolate off a strawberry and throws it to Hestia.

“You definitely would have got tired of my shit if we dated in high school.” It sounds like Harry’s given it a lot of thought, which is mildly concerning. “Especially when my dad died. And the opiates. That wasn’t great.”

Allie presses her foot into his knee in a hopefully reassuring way. “It’s understandable, considering. I knew your dad was an asshole but even I wouldn’t have guessed he had a whole second family.”

“Yeah, that was pretty left field.” He’s shovelling more ice cream into his mouth. “Maybe it was a good thing though, eventually. Because it meant it was pretty fucking obvious that he was a shitty guy, and so me and mom didn’t have to argue about that anymore.”

She wants to hug him. Realises that they are literally on a date. Sits up and presses her chin into his shoulder. He’s tense, his shoulder sharp. But he relaxes a little. “This is a pretty dark first date conversation.”

Harry smiles a little. “I think we’re beyond the small talk stage. I already know your favourite colour, favourite film, favourite animal.”

“Oh yeah? What’s my favourite smell?”

“I don’t know – the tack room, maybe? You always look like you’re some crack addict when you go in there. And when you come back from competitions you take way longer than you should to put things away.”

“Are you going to deny yours is lavender?”

Harry hums lightly. “Still reminds me of grandmas. Which is complicated, because it also reminds me of you, so it’s very confusing that it kind of turns me on.”

It’s bold and honest and new, and kind of takes her breath away. He’s looking at her face, trying to gauge her reaction. “Oh really?”

“Like I said, it’s complicated.”

“That crush in middle school,” she mentions casually, “how’s that treating you?”

“It was kind of the catalyst for two of my relationship breakdowns,” Allie looks at him, and he rolls a shoulder. “Zara said she didn’t want to compete with you, and God, you should have heard Jen.” He’s staring at a strawberry in the bowl. “She was always vaguely jealous of you for some reason – she thought we’d hooked up or something. Then I ditched the day before her step sister’s wedding to come back when you were in hospital,” Allie breathes in sharply at that, and Harry cuts her a look, “yeah, it did not go down well. Understandably, probably. You should probably know that historically, I’ve not been the best boyfriend.”

Allie definitely shouldn’t be feeling victorious. “I’m not precisely the best girlfriend. Joe thought I was hung up on someone else, actually.”

He looks at her out of the corner of his eye, attempting to be casual. “Oh yeah?”

“No idea who.” He tries to hide his smile and fails. “Some asshole, probably.”

His laugh is low and she wants to live in it forever. Harry swallows, and he places his now empty bowl on the floor. “Allie – I… I know this is probably a bit weird, and uh, I don’t think we’re either the most romantic of people. But – I don’t want things to change, either. So, if you’re more comfortable being friends…”

“I don’t know, a boy ditching his girlfriend to fly home and visit some girl in hospital, or lending his horse to a girl who’s been told by an asshole not to ride. Or bankrolling an entire farm he doesn’t even live on. That sounds a lot like romance, to me.”

His feet are on the floor, grounding them. Allie places her bowl on the floor and loops her fingers through the close of his shirt, pulling lightly. He’s pliant, obedient. Bends towards her, slides one hand around her shoulders so he can support some of her weight. She takes her time and he doesn’t push her, just stays close, his breath on her face.

“You stink of garlic,” Allie tells him, and he scowls, ready to retort.

Harry Bingham’s lips are incredibly soft, and his aftershave is familiar. It always disconcerts her when she smells it on anyone else. It must be some incredibly expensive brand, but she doesn’t mind that. It takes him half a second to respond, but then his spare his hand slides into her hair, cups the base of her skull. Allie puts one arm around the back of his neck, to keep her balance, and he pulls her even closer.

Allie breaks off to take a breath. Keeps her face close, nose knocking into his. “Did you know that for thirty-three point three three three of our kisses, you’ve been crying?” she tells him conversationally.

Harry pulls her closer, nose to her neck. His arms are strong around her. Steady. He kisses slowly and deliberately, almost leisurely. “Twenty five percent, now,” his voice is lower, with her being so close. “I’m pretty sure we can reduce it further, if you want.”

Allie grins, hides her face in his shirt. His hands sweep over her back. “Maybe if you’re lucky, Bingham.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next one is the last, i double promise!!


	11. eleven.

They stay on the swing seat until the cold drives them inside. It’s not as awkward as Allie had dreaded, although it will definitely take some time to get used to Harry’s gaze on her lips whilst she speaks and not wanting to blush or move away when he’s so close to her.

They wash the dishes side by side, elbows knocking. Harry is reluctant to cross any boundaries in the kitchen, so she pushes him against the counter. He has soap suds on his hands and looks at her wryly.

“Bit keen, Pressman.” His voice is lower, with an edge of huskiness. Allie pulls him down and doesn’t care whether he gets soap on her dress.

Most of her kisses have had a purpose. With Joe – to end up in bed. They were all hot and heavy and full of intent. With Will it had been teenage sweetness, testing the concept without fully committing. But Harry – Harry is just because she likes the taste, or the way he smiles, like he couldn’t quite comprehend what is going on. The way they stay close when they broke apart; how he pushes his nose into hers, making a face.

“We’re not sleeping together,” Harry informs her. Allie’s pressed up against him, hips together, her chest against his. She frowns at him and then moves to pull away. His grip on her hips tightens, and she relents. “Just tonight,” he clarifies.

“Who said I was going to put out on the first date anyway?” she complains balefully, even though she definitely would have. Allie pulls away again, and he lets her go. She retreats to blow the candle out on the table.

Harry’s looking at her fondly and that irritates her further. It’s the gaze he might shoot Eden when she’s having a tantrum. Or to Grizz the goat when he escapes and appears on the porch.

“I can still stay.”

“Oh – how gracious of you.” Her tone is more of a snap, and Harry looks away. “You know where the spare room is.”

Hestia follows as she stomps upstairs, bare feet not quite making the desired exit fanfare. She can vaguely hear Harry’s footsteps as he follows her, pausing to turn the lights off. He leans one shoulder against the wall and folds his arms across his chest, watching her as she turns her lamp on and vigorously brushes her teeth.

Her dress falls in a green heap at her feet, and Harry keeps his gaze trained steadfastly on her face.

“Is this your usual seduction routine?” his tone is amused.

“You started this,” she reminds him, and hates how her voice wavers. She’d picked out this underwear especially – matching pale blue, the right mixture of cute and revealing. And Harry has the audacity to not even appreciate it.

“Are we really arguing because I’ve said I don’t want to sleep with you on our first date?” frustration mars his tone, as he stands up straight from the wall and considers her.

“Do you not want to, or something? Because I gave you an out, if you think this is weird.” Allie pulls on an oversized t-shirt, embarrassment making her flush.

Harry makes a noise of frustration, a huff. His hands go to his hair. “Jesus Christ, Allie. Of course I want to sleep with you. That fact has been fucking me over for years. I just – I want it to mean something, okay? I feel like there needs to be an adjustment period first. Or you might freak out on me or something.”

Allie looks at him for a long moment. Harry Bingham standing in her room talking about meaning. Standing on her porch and throwing around words like _love_ and _decade_ and trying his best not to objectify her, even when she’s standing in front of him just in matching underwear.

“Okay,” she turns and pulls back the covers, climbing into bed. “You can stay here, if you want.”

She thinks he borrows her toothbrush and he eventually climbs in next to her almost fully clothed.

“I can probably resist you if you want to take your jeans off,” she tells him, snapping the lamp off and plunging them into the gloom. Harry sighs, but then there’s rustling as he complies.

Allie is very aware of her own breathing. Of the rise and fall of her chest. Of Hestia, who’s jumped onto the bed and curled up at the foot of the bed as usual.

“Come here.” He’s reaching for her, slipping an arm under her shoulders. Allie lets herself be pulled across the bed, until Harry’s at her back. He curls one arm under her neck and the other over her waist. His breath is warm on her neck.

After a moment, she interlaces her fingers with his. He presses a kiss to her bare shoulder where the t-shirt has slipped down.

After a silence Allie turns to face him. She can vaguely make out his eyes in the darkness. Their breathing matches; deep, even breaths. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She can tell he’s smiling, which is a fact that unnerves her. To know so much about someone.

“Sorry for being moody.”

“It’s okay,” his nose brushes hers lightly, and then his lips press sweetly to hers. “I do tend to have an impact with women.”

“You’re insufferable.” His breath huffs out as she swats at his shoulder. “But, seriously…”

“It’s okay,” he says again, and the kiss this time is lingering. “We’ll figure this out. Just at the right pace.”

“When did you get so sensible?”

“The stakes are pretty high this time.”

“I’ll have you know that I have an excellent track record of maintaining friendships with my exes. Will lives here.”

Harry’s arms tighten a little at the mention of Will, but then his lips are on her shoulder, brushing her clavicle. “I know. That’s mostly because you’re super stubborn.”

“And Will is an excellent human being.”

His lips are on her neck, trailing a line towards her jaw. “Can we stop talking about your ex whilst we’re in bed, please?”

The noise she makes is somewhere between a hum and a sigh. “Make me.”

He turns her face with a hand on her chin, easily capturing her lips. Allie keeps her hands on his chest. His breathing is familiar, his presence not beyond comprehension.

“Is this the adult version of sleeping above the cab in the truck?” she muses.

“Confession time,” his voice is lower, infused with sleep. “You never kicked me in the face. I just liked waking up and seeing you rather than a sleeping bag.”

Allie gasps, and Harry captures her hand before she can swat at his shoulder. He’s smiling as he presses his lips to her palm. “Joke’s on you, because I am the most restless sleeper. And I steal covers.”

Harry breathes out slowly, and he’s definitely falling asleep. “Oh, I know.”

*

It’s Hestia who hears the intruders, who jolts awake and looks intently at the stairs. Allie startles with the movement, sitting up and flinching into Harry. They’re not tangled together, but Harry shifts, curves one arm around her waist, pushing his cheek into her side.

“What?” he mumbles sleepily.

The footsteps are louder, and then she hears some muffled giggles and someone she thinks is Becca whispering _shhhhh_. Her shoulders relax, and she pulls the covers up over her bare legs.

The group burst into her room with a shout. Someone pops a party popper, the streams of coloured paper falling short of the bed. Hestia leaps up and barks at them, her whole body wagging.

“Holy shit,” Grizz is clutching Sam’s hand and positively beaming. “You sneaky fuckers.”

“Congratulations!” Becca squeals. “I hope you used protection. We have enough asshole children for one house.”

Harry pushes his face further into the material of Allie’s t-shirt, but he’s not shy of the attention. Allie’s face is covered with a blush which makes her cheeks feel hot.

“Fuck you all,” she says without heat.

_“No, thanks. Not my style.”_

Allie flips Sam off and shuffles down on the bed, displacing Harry. He makes a noise like a disgruntled kitten, pulling her back to him and burying his face in the juncture between her neck and shoulder.

Will says, “Jesus Christ.”

Becca says, “I always suspected he was a cuddler,” pensively.

“Breakfast’s in half an hour, if you can make it,” Grizz informs them brightly. And then he’s herding them out, pushing at Sam’s hand as he takes a picture on his phone. Hestia follows the group hopefully.

“They’re the worst,” Allie complains, only half distracted by how Harry’s hands are skating across her midriff, under her shirt. They’re warm and lightly calloused. His hair sticks up at the back, is flat on one side. He peers through his eyelashes.

“You have morning breath,” he comments idly, but he pulls her into a kiss as she turns away in offence.

“So do you.”

She can feel his responding hum radiating through his chin as he rests it on her breastbone. “Only because someone has a ridiculous attachment to garlic.”

“All I’m hearing is that you never want me to cook for you again. Is that right?”

He drags his lips across her collarbone, peers up through his eyelashes. It does something to her and she has to look away. “That’s not what I said.”

Allie presses a kiss to his forehead and then extracts herself, the wooden floorboards cool beneath her feet. “Sure it isn’t.”

His gaze is appreciative, trailing over her bare legs. Allie pulls on his school sweatshirt, the cuffs frayed on her wrist.

“You’ve ruined that,” he complains, but it’s mild. “That’s my favourite sweatshirt.”

“I’ve had it for years,” she points out. “It’s payment for having to haul your drunk or high ass home.”

“Never really minded anyway,” it’s said around a yawn, and he bundles the covers under his chin. “Kind of liked the thought of you wearing it. Quite hot.”

It’s unfair how these casual comments derail her thoughts. She breaths out through her nose shortly, pulls on a pair of pyjama shorts. She has to sit on the bed to navigate her foot into a sock, and Harry takes his chance, pulling her to him.

“Stay here,” he implores against her neck.

“Get up.” He releases her when she nips lightly at his nose, scowling. Allie pulls the covers off the bed and laughs at his shriek of protest.

*

“We didn’t sleep together.” The swing seat is Allie’s favourite place. Becca stills, her glass of juice halfway to her mouth. “Me and Harry, last night,” Allie clarifies.

Becca takes a small sip. “Okay. Any reason?”

Allie looks over to the paddocks, where she can see Harry running careful hands over Luna. The mare is gradually looking better, but she’s still dejected and listless. “He said there needs to be an adjustment period, or I might freak out.”

“Christ.”

“I know. And he said he wanted it to _mean_ something.”

“Shit.”

“Yup.”

“That boy really fucking knows you.”

“Yeah – what?”

“It’s a good idea,” Allie’s staring at her friend in betrayal. “You’re hardly the most in tune with your emotions, so how about you just chill out and don’t overthink things.”

“It’s hard when he’s talking about meaning. Since when does sex have to mean anything? That’s some patriarchal bullshit if I’ve ever heard it.”

“I’ll give it a week,” Becca decides. “Maybe five days.”

Allie throws her head back against the swing seat and groans. “Maybe we’re just destined to be friends. This is all extremely complicated.”

Becca eyes her with amusement. “It’s really not. Just stop thinking.”

*

Allie doesn’t like being handled with kid gloves, which is exactly how Harry is handling her. Like he’s handling some feral horse. He approaches her steadily, and every move is predictable and assured.

Allie pushes him against the door of the tackroom and bites at his lower lip, hard. He pulls back and his pupils consume his irises, completely blown.

“Fuck, Pressman.”

“That’s the general idea, yes,” she says impatiently. His eyes darken further, but then he’s smirking, pushing at her shoulders so there’s distance between them.

Allie respects his boundaries in a loose way, because he’s more than happy to push up against her back whilst she’s scrambling eggs and press an open-mouthed kiss to the back of her neck. Or he watches unashamedly as she gets too hot cleaning out the barn and strips down to her camisole, a glean of sweat on her skin.

Maybe he’s right, because things settle down between them in an easy way. It’s a lot like being his friend, but also different.

She’s not quite sure what to make of it.

*

Allie’s in the arena with Esprit when the car pulls down the driveway. Allie slides down from the saddle and leads the mare out to the driveway. The hot teacher with brown hair climbs out of the passenger side. She’s learned he’s called James, and he has a nice smile as he walks over.

“Allie, hi!”

“Hey, James. Thank you for coming.” Allie had been somewhat surprised to have him message her on Facebook, asking whether he could come to the barn. It seemed a weirdly formal arrangement, but he’d mentioned that one of the kids in his class had been talking about the summer programme.

“It’s okay, it’s nice to have a change of scene,” distantly a goat bleats, and the chickens cluck to themselves as they parade around. The horses swish their tails against flies, and snort faintly. “The principal asked me to, actually. He wants to ask whether you would consider working alongside the school, expand our P.E. requirements.”

Allie blinks at him for a couple of seconds. “Oh, oh my God. Okay.”

“Maybe we could discuss it over coffee sometime…?”

Allie’s not listening, instead peering over his shoulder. Harry’s brushing Fiji down in the paddock, the gelding tied to the railings. “Harry!” she calls. “HARRY!”

He looks up (as if he hadn’t been watching the entire exchange anyway), then puts down his brush and saunters over. James turns to watch him approach.

“You called?” his voice is dry, eyes blank as they flicker shortly over James. Allie beams at him excitedly.

“James is a teacher over at middle school – and apparently the principal has asked whether we could consider working with them during term time.”

It’s unconscious, the way she touches one hand to Harry’s chest. He looks down at her fingers on his shirt, then at her, and lets out a breath. “That’s great,” he says eventually, and then he’s turning to James and smiling the Bingham smile. “Hi, I’m Harry. Against my better judgement, I co-own this place.”

James has taken a step backwards but he’s nodding at them. “Oh cool, okay. Shall I pass your details to the principal or…?”

“Probably best to let Becca deal,” Allie looks at Harry for confirmation, and he tips his chin at her. “Here, I’ll give you her number.”

Harry takes Esprit’s reins as Allie fishes her phone out of her back pocket.

“The kids really enjoyed this summer,” James tells them, as Allie scrolls through her contacts. “Even Leo said it was alright – and he’s not the most eloquent.”

Allie half laughs, and then reads out Becca’s number. James notes it down dutifully.

“We really appreciate you coming out,” Harry’s shaking James’ hand, touching his elbow. “Nice to hear we’re apparently doing something right.”

“I will admit – I was dubious. Maybe I’ll have to come see you in action.”

“Sure,” Allie’s still grinning, but busies herself by tugging a hand through Esprit’s mane. “Thanks, James.”

“I’ll see you around.”

Esprit and Harry watch as James gets into his car and drives away. Allie beams at Harry, who eventually focusses on her.

“Isn’t that awesome?” she sighs, and Harry falls into step next to her as she starts leading Esprit back to the barn. “Also, who knew Leo would be a proponent for the cause?”

“I think he was trying to ask you on a date.” Harry’s tone is overly casual, which means he’s intended for it to be. Allie scrunches her nose.

“I don’t think so.”

“ _I’ll come and see you in action_ ,” he recalls in an approximation of James’ voice. “ _I’ll see you around._ ”

Allie looks at him but can’t read his face. “So?”

Harry looks as though he’s searching for the words but can’t find them. “Would you go on a date with him, if he asked you?”

Esprit stops with a snort as Allie does, a frown on her face. “What?” Harry looks at her blankly. “No.”

“Why not?”

Allie wonders if there’s something she’s missing. Whether she’s got the wrong end of the stick. “Because I’m kind of seeing someone else.”

Something like relief courses across Harry’s face, but then he tempers it into an easy smile. “Okay.”

“Is that what you want?”

He doesn’t look at her. “I suppose it’ll do, until I get a better offer.”

*

The house is empty mid-morning on a Sunday. Allie showers with the door open and sings loudly and badly, Hestia sitting on the bathmat. The towel is ridiculously oversized and swamps her to her knees, but it’s soft and orange and feels like a hug.

Harry’s not stayed over since a week ago, but she’s not exactly surprised to see him in her room. He’s searching through her drawers, muttering under his breath.

“I hope you’re not stealing my underwear.”

He whips around at the sound of her voice. There’s a white splash of something all down the front of his shirt.

“No – I’d be looking through your laundry basket if I was,” he holds his school sweatshirt in one hand. “Spilt pancake mix all down me.”

“Pancakes?”

He shrugs. “I was hungry.”

“You prefer waffles.” Harry sighs and looks up at the ceiling, but Allie is undeterred. “You don’t have to be extra nice now we’re…”

“Now we’re what?”

“Dating.”

“Is that what we’re doing?”

Water drips from the ends of her hair over her shoulders, the droplets cooling as they roll. They stare at each other from across the room, the bed between them. “Yes,” she decides firmly. “If you want to.”

The t-shirt is discarded for his sweatshirt, and he smirks at her as she stares at his exposed chest. “Don’t objectify me, Pressman.”

Half of her is tempted to drop her towel as a dare, but she doesn’t have the courage. “Men have been objectifying women for centuries. I’m just returning the favour.”

Harry rolls his eyes at her, but he crosses around the bed and tugs at a lock of her wet hair as he passes. “I’ve made pancakes.”

Allie sits on the counter with wet hair and kicks out at him with her toes. Harry flips pancakes and she eats them as soon as they’re out of the pan, so hot that they burn her tongue.

She pulls him into a kiss by his shoulders and he tastes of maple syrup, their lips sticking together. He protests when she wipes her chin on his shoulder.

*

He’s always been full of quips and sarcasm and biting humour, so she’s not entirely sure whether she expected them to just disappear in bed.

He says, “huh, I always thought you’d be more flexible,” and she is tempted to punch him.

“Maybe because your ex was like, ninety per cent legs,” Allie pulls at his shoulders and manoeuvres with her thighs, so she’s on top. Harry settles into the mattress, one hand on her hip and the other fumbling with the clasp of her bra. “Some of us actually have bones.”

“Were you jealous of her legs? You shouldn’t be. Yours are perfectly adequate.”

Allie moves her hips languidly, one hand on his chest. His pupils are blown (they have been ever since he pulled her top off, to be honest) and he makes a muffled moan in his throat. Which Allie definitely appreciates.

“Fuck, Pressman,” it’s broken, a pant, as she moves faster, her head tilting backwards. She gasps as she comes, and then is boneless, slumping. Harry pushes himself onto his elbows as if that was his cue, his hips thrusting towards her, before he bands his arms around her and groans into her neck.

They stay like that, Allie straddling him, his chin on her shoulder. He pulls back to look at her from beneath heavy eyelids. “Okay, maybe there are some benefits to having sturdy legs.”

Allie bites his shoulder.

*

She thinks maybe it should be a turn off, the conversations he insists on having. But there’s also no pretence – she doesn’t care how she looks when she comes, because he’s already teased her. Then made her come again, so he can perfect it.

He runs his hands over her in a reverie, brushes his teeth at the sink whilst she’s in the shower and folds the towel around her when she gets out.

When they’re watching TV she sits on the floor and butts her head against his knee until he plays with her hair, braiding and un-braiding it.

“Braid my hair,” she demands one Tuesday morning. Harry is always slow in the mornings, needs cajoling. Always pulling her back into bed and complaining in a low tone that makes her flush with want. “Oi. Braid my hair.”

“No,” he pushes his face into her stomach and bundles the covers around his shoulders. “Braid it yourself.”

“Braid it, because I want to go down on you.”

She knows how to wake him up.

*

He’s careful about her space, her home. Goes to his mom’s four nights a week and doesn’t leave clothes lying around at hers. Allie ends up stealing items anyway.

Three weeks after their first date, he’s going to a competition.

“Do you have to go?” Allie complains, right as he’s going down on her. Harry pauses, then wipes his chin and mouth on her inner thigh and crawls up her body so they’re face to face.

“Yes.” She’s greedy, pushing her hips up to his, fingers digging into his lower back. He holds his weight off her with his elbows, looking at her seriously. “I have to keep the practice in, for worlds. And somebody’s got to earn some money around here.”

Allie stills beneath him, and Harry senses the change in tone because he collapses next to her.

“Right,” she says humourlessly. She’d dropped shifts at the diner in the past few weeks, and had had to transfer $300 out of the farm account to pay the shortfall in the mortgage.

“Allie…”

“No, understood. I’ll get my shit together.”

He reaches for her, but his hands hover above her shoulder, not making contact. “Please, don’t.”

She does – she gets out of bed and retrieves her underwear from between the sheets. Pulls them up her legs, and then her jeans. Harry watches, his jaw set.

“Well,” she says once she’s fully dressed. “I hope you have a lovely time adding all that prize money to your sparse bank account. Mustn’t let it dip below the million mark.”

“Allie – come on. That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean then, Bingham?” Harry stares at the sheets and the silence between them swells.

He leaves that afternoon without saying goodbye. Just packs up Fiji and Breeze and goes.

Allie stands where his truck is usually parked and screams loudly. It startles the chickens, who cluck and flutter with alarm.

He doesn’t text her.

*

Allie does advertise for boarders, and she gets four requests within three hours. She shows them all around the facilities separately, and then the barn with the stalls attached to the indoor. Becca has done some research and although the price of $500 a month sticks in her mouth; they all accept it without question.

“I’m proud of you,” Becca tells her as they eat dinner. “You might actually make some money out of this.”

Becca also starts work promoting Allie as a coach, and a few people get in contact. It’s discombobulating to see trailers and trucks rolling down the drive with the express purpose of being taught by her for an hour, but she slowly gets used to it.

The school principal gets in contact with Becca, and they work out arrangements.

“I’m thinking maybe Wednesday and Thursday afternoons,” Becca proposes to Allie. “On a sign-up basis, because we don’t need anyone who doesn’t want to be here.”

“Limited numbers, though. We’ve not got that many horses, and I don’t want to overwork them.”

Becca makes a note of her suggestions, and they work towards a starting date of after Thanksgiving.

It makes her want to call Harry and boast, but she can’t bring herself to click on his number. Grizz catches her staring at her phone.

“Do it,” he urges. “I’m sick of both of you moping.”

Harry’s not here to actively mope, and Allie pouts at the assertion. “I do not _mope_.”

“Funny, that’s exactly what Harry said.”

*

Harry calls her exactly an hour and ten minutes after he’d been due to appear in the ring. She’d tracked the show’s programme. Allie answers the call, but doesn’t speak.

“His tendon’s gone,” Harry says down the phone in the cold and detached way Allie hates. “Fiji’s.”

“What?”

“His tendon – the vet says it might be snapped.”

Allie closes her eyes and slumps into the nearest chair. If there’s no leg, there’s often no horse. It’s particularly hard to rehabilitate leg injuries in horses and the usual course of action is to put them to sleep so they’re no longer in pain.

“Come home,” she demands, and she’s pressing a hand into her forehead and trying not to cry. “Give him all the painkillers you can, buy some ice boots. Just come home. We’ll figure it out.”

“Okay,” Allie doesn’t know whether it’s wistful thinking but he sounds more alive. “I’ll be a couple of days.”

“I know. Drive safe. Harry – it’s going to be okay.”

He hangs up, and Allie immediately starts Googling tendon injuries and potential rehabilitation. She steals some A3 paper from Eden’s art supplies and draws a timeline, along with every possible route they could take.

She calls him every night and he sounds dejected or detached, answering her questions shortly.

“He’s not looking great,” he tells her hollowly.

Allie’s levelling the arenas with the quadbike when she hears the familiar sound of his truck. It turns down the driveway moments later, and he looks at her vacantly as he draws to a stop.

Allie has already cut the quad’s engine and climbed the fence, jogging up to the cab. Harry climbs down slowly and stands in front of her, dark shadows under his eyes.

Allie hugs him fiercely, arms tight around his shoulders. He’s slow to move but then engulfs her, making her feel small.

“It’s just a horse,” he’s pulled away and looks at her hollowly, but she clutches at his fingers and smiles thinly at him.

“My worst heartbreaks have been over horses.” They move to the back of the truck, letting the ramp down with a thud. “I’m still not over Jasper.”

Fiji limps heavily on his foreleg, his head bobbing with every step. Allie’s set up a stall next to the new boarders in the top barn, with a thick straw bed. The gelding starts pulling at the haynet. Harry hooks his arms over the stall door and watches, and Allie leans into his side.

“I’ve booked the vet for tomorrow morning, and I’ve made a game plan. We’ll give this our best shot.”

“I don’t even care if he doesn’t compete again,” Harry says finally, quietly.

“I know.” Her grip is light on his wrist. “Come on, Sam’s made dinner.”

He’s quieter during dinner, and escapes to wash the dishes. Allie dries and puts away. He pauses as he’s putting something in the fridge, frowning at the exercise and rehabilitation programme she’s pinned to the fridge with the weird magnets Sam always buys.

He sits gingerly on the end of her bed, staring at his hands. Allie bustles around folding clothes and shoving things into drawers for a semblance of tidiness. Harry’s yawning widely and sinking back onto the bed, his eyes drifting shut.

It’s early, but growing darker outside. Allie slides the blinds down on the skylights and brushes her teeth. She pulls Harry up by his arm, pushes a toothbrush she’d found in the downstairs bathroom cupboard into his hand. He still hasn’t looked at her, not properly. She waits until he’s in bed before she turns the light off. They lie apart.

“I don’t deserve you,” Harry tells the dark.

Allie closes the distance between them. Tugs her fingers through his hair, presses her lips to his forehead, to each eyebrow. His fingers loop around her wrist, resting there.

“It’ll all seem better in the morning,” she promises. “Everything always does.”

“Are we still fighting?”

She smiles into the darkness despite herself. Drags her nails across his upper arm, so he exhales and turns his face into the crook of her elbow. “No, we’re not fighting.”

*

The vet arrives at ten, and Allie had left Harry under the covers that morning. Had done all the morning chores including cleaning out Fiji’s stall. The gelding looked up expectantly when she opened the door to the barn, but seemed deflated when he realised it was her.

Allie greets the vet on the drive. Seeing the dark-haired man always makes her anxious because no one really wants to summon the vet. He unpacks the equipment from his truck and they discuss the best place to take x-rays and conduct a scan. Allie leads Fiji out of the stall, the gelding’s toe dragging across the concrete.

Harry appears as she’s holding the horse’s halter and talking quietly to him. Fiji shifts at the noise of the machine, at a stranger holding his tail out of the way and a screen being held between his front legs. But he’s quiet, looking at Allie with wide, trusting eyes.

He nickers softly as Harry joins them. His hair’s rumpled and there’s a smattering of stubble on his cheeks. Harry drapes one arm over Allie’s shoulders and leans on her, the other hand stroking at Fiji’s face.

“How’s it looking?” he asks, as Fiji’s eyes close and he leans into Harry’s hand.

“Partial tear to the deep digital flexor tendon,” the vet surmises shortly. “Allie’s been running through some of her ideas for treatment, but I do have to warn you that a full recovery is unlikely until around 12 months.”

Allie takes Fiji back to his stall and leaves Harry discussing the finer details with the vet. Eventually he slumps against her again, and she takes the weight of him easily.

*

They construct a complicated track around one of the paddocks, with many turns so Fiji couldn’t build up speed even if he wanted to. They create feeding stations around it to encourage movement. After a week of rest, the walk him by hand on the trails, building up for five minutes each day.

Allie takes weekly snapshots and posts them on her social media. People start responding with their own injuries and stories; asking questions.

There’s a creek on one of the trails and Allie often leads Fiji there to stand in it for some hydrotherapy. It’s November and the water is cold enough to numb her toes, even through the thick leather of her boots.

They don’t discuss it, but Allie stops working at the diner. They get a fifth boarder. People come and hire the indoor arena in hourly slots now the weather has turned, and Allie keeps travelling around coaching people.

It’s never going to make her a fortune and she is sometimes so exhausted that her bones ache, but there is a stillness which is beyond compare when Esprit touches her muzzle to her elbow, or Jigsaw cocks one ear towards her in understanding when she asks him wordlessly to move over. When Luna whinnies and trots over to Harry for the first time, whose grin threatens to split his face in half.

Grizz starts doing landscaping for Clark’s dad, and Becca officially sets up her own marketing company from one of the spare rooms. Olivia and Eden form an unbeatable alliance, and spend their days chasing each other on horses as Becca watches on fretfully.

Sam starts his postgraduate in psychology at the community college closer to home. Kelly starts college, and cries when Becca presents her with an engraved stethoscope. She stays around more often than not, sharing Becca’s bed. Allie doesn’t mention it, but she sees the way they look at each other.

Cassie calls her on Facetime almost daily from New York where she’s doing her law internship. Harry’s often in the background of Allie’s calls, making dinner or fussing Hestia or reading one of his over wrought classical books. Cassie doesn’t mention that either, but Allie knows she notices.

*

They still haven’t defined anything. Harry doesn’t really touch her in a way that could be construed as anything but platonic in front of anyone. Kisses are traded in private, like an underground currency.

She does long for something more concrete and permanent. But the equilibrium they’ve reached feels fragile, like it could shatter at a moment’s notice.

Besides, it’s her bed he spends most of his time in, so that must count for something.

*

Allie doesn’t not tell her parents on purpose. It’s just never come up.

It’s Thanksgiving and they’ve invited everyone around. Allie borrows a top from Becca that shows off her waist, and Harry grabs her in the hallway as she passes and presses her against the wall, nipping at her shoulder. Allie laughs quietly and pushes him off, but he just rests his forehead against hers.

“One hundred dollars if you get rid of everyone right now,” his voice is low and just for her.

“Two hundred and you have yourself a deal.”

The sound of a plastic tumbler hitting the wooden floorboards startles them both. Harry’s arms are tight around Allie as they both turn.

Allie’s mom stares at them both. At Harry’s arms, locked around her waist. At how Allie leans into him, shoulder in his side. At his hair in disarray from where she’s tugged her hands through it.

“Oh my God,” Amanda says quietly. Then she’s turning and striding away, yelling, “Karen! KAREN! It’s happening! Oh my God, it’s happening.”

They stay in the hallway for a second, and distantly Allie can hear the buzz as everyone discusses it, discusses them. Harry’s released her and looks inscrutable. Allie’s cheeks are burning.

“Sorry,” he says, and Allie frowns at him.

“What?”

He shrugs, tugs a lock of his hair with his hand. “I don’t know whether you wanted people to know.”

Allie’s staring, dumbfounded. “I thought _you_ didn’t want people to know. You don’t really act as anything but friends.”

“I don’t tend to sleep with my friends.”

Allie doesn’t know whether the implied subtext that she does in fact sleep with her friends is intended. She wasn’t aware it was possible, but her cheeks have even more heat in them. “You’re an idiot,” she declares, and it’s her who closes the distance between them with a scowl. He always allows himself to be pulled down, for her to mash their lips together almost violently.

Harry slows it down, parts his lips and pulls her closer. He’s always so gentle, tucking strands of hair behind her ears, fingertips on her cheekbones.

The kitchen is still buzzing with noise, and Allie breaks off with him eventually. He’s looking at her intently, gaze soft.

“Come on, let’s go feed the lions.” He lets himself be pulled along by his hand, and everyone turns towards them as they appear in the doorway. There are a few cheers and shouts, and someone whoops loudly. Allie thinks it’s Grizz and she blushes, flustered at being the centre of attention. Harry is used to it, his shoulders back and down.

“I always thought this would happen,” Helena has pulled her away, pushing a glass of wine into her hand. “So are you guys together now?”

Allie looks over her shoulder and Harry is looking directly at her. “Yeah, yeah. We’re together.”

“How long have you known?” Elle’s voice is quieter, gentler, and she looks between Harry and Allie in consideration. Harry’s been cornered by Jim and Allie thinks that she may have to rescue him.

“Only about ten years or so.”

He hears – of course he hears. A true Bingham smile is a sight to behold; a sunrise from the top of the mountain, the feeling you get when you’re in bed and listening to rain drum against the window, knowing everyone you loved was warm and dry. It makes her heart stop for a moment and she grins brightly back.

Later on, they rock gently on the swing seat, even though it’s too cold to be outside. Allie sits on top of Harry (for warmth purposes) and he tucks his chin on her shoulder, his nose cold against her cheek.

“Grizz thinks we could make things a lot easier if we just talked to each other,” he says into her neck. 

“Probably,” Allie agrees. “But where’s the fun in that?”

*

The vet rescans Fiji’s tendon the week before Christmas, and expresses surprise about the healing rate.

Harry’s on his third beer when he tells her this, when he says, “it’s all down to you, obviously,” as if that fact is obvious. As if he hadn’t also been leading the gelding around the trails for hours, or standing with a hosepipe directed at the tendon in question until his hand cramps.

“Down to us,” she corrects, and she pours vodka and gin into a glass and starts rooting for a mixer. She hopes he’ll take over and make her a ridiculously sweet drink and he does, bumping her out of the way with her hip.

After his fifth beer he says, “you make we want to be a better person. I’m not a good person, Allie.”

Harry takes P.E. classes when she has to go and coach, and he coaxes Luna to eat and works with Moose every day. He teaches his sister and Eden now too, and he remembers to order horse feed on time.

“You just want to help everyone,” he continues, and maybe he’s thinking of a new student Allie’s got who has violent tendencies and successfully landed a punch on her the other day. Allie had just backed away and let him punch the railings, and then handed him a bag of peas for his split knuckles.

“I’m just too stubborn,” she tells him. “I’m not good, you’re not bad, we’re just people.”

“I never would have shared my house with all my friends, or started up the programme.”

“You help with it all now.” Harry hums lightly in his throat and Allie feels like she’s missed his point. “If you have bad thoughts but do good things, you’re still good.”

He sips from his beer, squints at her. “It’s not as simple as that.”

“You were the one who started with this whole reductionist shit,” her tone is sharp. “Do you want me to justify your existence? I like you. I like having you around. You make me braver, make me consider other viewpoints. You’re the most frustrating person in my life.”

His lips are quirking up into a smile, but he sips his beer to hide it. “Continue.”

“You’re adequate in bed.”

The sudden laughter fills the kitchen and he pulls her to him by her hip. Folds his arms around her, so his beer bottle knocks against her shoulder.

She thinks he says _I love you_ into her hair but she pretends not to hear it.

*

They get some requests from people regarding rehabilitation of their horses. People drive across counties to board their horses, for Allie and Harry to try and navigate their way through to soundness. Allie bases her ethos off continuous, steady movement, to prevent rigid scar tissue from forming and so maintaining the greatest scope of movement.

Becca chronicles each horse that boards with them. It's painstaking progress with most of them, but there's satisfaction as Allie sees them improving.

Harry watches her with each horse, sitting on the fence, or joining her on trail rides in walk.

*

It’s three days before her twenty third birthday. She stands and looks out of the window, sipping at her tea. Distantly, she can see Grizz and Harry milling around outside the closest barn. There’s a pony between them, but Allie can’t quite make out who it is.

She knows all of the animals on sight – and the bay is familiar. Too small to be Wish, too slim to be Oscar. Probably just the distance, and it is probably Wish.

The realisation comes as she sets foot on the first step of the stairs. The disgruntled expression, the one white sock. The door slams as she flings it open, and Hestia bounds beside her as she runs.

Harry and Grizz both look up at the noise. The pony spooks, pulling at the rope in Harry’s hands. Grizz looks frustrated, even stands in front of the pony, as though to shield the sight.

“It’s supposed to be a surprise,” Grizz complains, as Allie slams into Harry. He takes her weight easily, takes a step back to steady them. Allie’s gripping his forearms, staring at the pony. He has grey flecks around his muzzle and his eyes, but he has the same disgruntled expression.

He’s stilled as she arrives, and allows Allie to fling her arms around his neck. Jasper huffs out a breath wearily, as if he expected nothing less. Allie cries into his coarse mane. He smells exactly how she remembers.

“You asshole!” she punches Harry in the arm, but he grins and captures her wrist in his hand. Presses a kiss to her knuckle.

“It’s only taken me two years to track him down, and another to persuade them to sell him,” he wraps an arm around her, kisses her forehead. Jasper is completely uninterested, instead gazing at some nearby chickens. “Happy birthday shithead.”

Cassie cries down the phone when Allie sends her a picture. Harry watches Allie in amusement as she starts sniffling as well, gulping back her tears.

“Shut up,” she throws a sock at him in protest. It bounces off his forehead.

*

Allie gives him a key for his twenty fourth birthday, wrapped up in a card.

“Move in,” she tells him as the key falls into his lap.

“I spend most of my time here anyway,” he points out, but he’s picked up the key and runs his fingertip over the edges.

“No, move in,” Allie climbs into his lap now, pushes her face close to his. “Move all your stupidly expensive clothes, all your shitty trophies. That collage I made that I know you’ve kept. Live with me.”

“Are you sure?”

She sighs and pushes him onto the bed by his shoulders. Presses open mouthed kisses to his neck. “Yes, of course I’m sure.”

*

The letter is stamped as being from the prison where Campbell is being held.

It’s addressed to Elle, but Allie shows Harry and then they open it anyway.

The writing is scrawling and blurred, and there are faint red smudges around the edges. It’s lines from the poem Invictus.

At the bottom he’s scrawled _you have blood on your hands. You better watch yourself._

Harry sets it on fire with a lighter that sputters three times before flickering to life. He drops it in Allie’s bathroom sink, and they rinse away the ashes afterwards.

Some things are better left unsaid.

*

Cassie comes home for the first time since Allie was hospitalised last year. The first thing Allie sees is the audacious ring on her sister’s finger.

“Are you fucking kidding me!” she pulls Cassie into an encompassing hug. “What the fuck?”

Cassie’s almost twenty-five and she suddenly looks more like a serious lawyer, with clean cut suits and blunt bangs. She still cries when she sees Jasper in the flesh, and doesn’t protest when Allie drags her out on a trail ride. Jasper is just as grumpy as previously, but it lacks the intent that Jigsaw’s credible threats have.

Harry’s in the kitchen when they get back and he’s made a pitcher of mojito, because it’s Cassie’s favourite.

“You’ve made a housewife of him,” Cassie comments as they fuss over the goats, plastic tumbler of mojito in one hand. Grizz, Sam and Harry are all in the garden. Allie thinks she can see Harry clipping a bundle of lavender which will no doubt appear in their room later on.

“He domesticated himself,” she protests. “Like the wolves did.”

Cassie laughs gently, and Allie loves her sharply.

*

Elle moves to Ireland.

She tells her shyly whilst they’re on a trail ride – Allie on Jigsaw, Elle on Esprit. The mare is gentle with the girl, as if she can sense something that is still fragile within her.

“I’ve been in contact with my mom for six months,” Elle explains. “She’s definitely not perfect – I know that. But she’s asked me to move out there.”

There is something primal in the way Allie thinks _no_ at once. She looks away, presses down her dissent. Elle seems to have held her breath beside her.

“We’ll always be here, Elle,” there is still something between them, unspoken. Campbell and the way Elle can’t bear to be alone with men, or the way she avoids Sam.

“I know,” Elle says, and she looks relieved. Flicks the ends of Esprit’s reins and stares at the mare’s neck. “I think I have to do this for myself. I can always come back, if it goes horrendously wrong.”

Allie drives her to the airport, Elle’s entire life packed up in two suitcases. Allie cries at the departure gate, and then in the car on the way home.

Harry’s never warmed to Elle, had said once that he considered her weak. Allie knows it’s because Allie had ended up in hospital because of her in a roundabout way.

He doesn’t say any of this. He holds her whilst she cries. Reminds her that she’s not dead, that she’s only in Ireland.

“Look, flights are only $800,” he reassures her, showing her his phone screen. It starts a fresh round of hiccups.

Becca lets Allie rest her head on her knee, pulls her fingers through her hair. “You love us all too much.”

“You’re all so fucking lovable.”

*

It’s two months to worlds, and Fiji was given the all clear scan five weeks ago. The gelding is perhaps fitter than he’s ever been in his life.

Harry is reluctant to do anything strenuous.

“He’s been given the all clear,” Allie sits on the side of the arena and watches Harry. The gelding is almost meek, bored, as he trots in wide circles. “We’ve had the physio, the vet, the chiropractor.”

She can sense rather than see Harry’s sigh. He looks briefly at the sky, as if seeking strength.

“You have two choices: you go, or you don’t go. Either is fine. If you go, you have to train him.”

A trailer containing five cows rattles down the driveway four days later. Harry refuses to catch her triumphant gaze as they’re unloaded into the roundpen.

*

Jigsaw loads onto the truck eagerly, and they take their time driving to Texas. They stop along the way in all the places Allie found on her travels. They share the driving and play car games, Harry’s hand resting on her thigh.

He’s tense like he always is the night before the final. Allie settles over him, pressing open mouthed kisses to his cheeks, chin and nose to make him smile. He relaxes slowly, moans when she cants her hips just how he likes it.

“I don’t care about tomorrow,” his voice is breathy, honest. “As long as I’ve got you.”

Her hips stutter, but he takes over, flips them both, pushes her into the mattress. “You’ve always been a romantic asshole,” she complains.

“Only for you, Pressman.”

*

She splays a hand over his shoulder in the chute, as usual. He’s looking less wrecked than he has previously. He even grips her hand quickly, his palm clammy against hers.

“I want a new arena surface,” she tells him, “so you better win, you little shit.”

He smirks at her as the gate opens. Jigsaw presses his muzzle into Fiji’s flank as they move into the ring.

It’s like poetry in motion, like it always is. Harry barely moves in the saddle but Fiji does, until his sides are heaving. Allie has a sharp eye on his foreleg but the horse doesn’t flinch or hesitate.

When he’s finished Allie reins Jigsaw up next to him, so their knees interlock. “I think you’ve won,” she tells him.

His gaze is soft on her. “Probably.”

“Modest as always.”

“It’s not modesty if it’s true.”

“Still unflattering, though.”

“Mm, you definitely don’t find me unattractive.”

His eyes have darkened and Allie looks at him sharply, eyes narrowed. They’re through the chute and everyone’s crowding at them. Allie has to rein Jigsaw away, the gelding poised to attack. When she looks back Harry’s been pulled off Fiji and Karen’s ruffling his hair, Buck standing at her shoulder. He still looks up and winks at her.

*

Harry’s away at a competition when he gets tagged in a photo on Facebook.

It’s a photo posted by his sponsor, of him and Jen looking freckled and alive under a full sun. They’re decked out all in the sponsor’s clothing, but it’s the way Harry’s looking at Jen. His nose is slightly wrinkled, his hand curved around her waist.

Becca, Sam, Grizz and Kelly are all crowded around Becca’s phone at the ugly kitchen table. They all look at her as she walks in.

There’s a long pause. “It could be an old photo,” Kelly begins, because she always finds the positives.

Allie goes to her room.

*

Harry rings five times and she ignores each one. Stalks out of the barn as he pulls up, the air brakes hissing as the truck stops. He jumps from the cab and watches her approaching, lips pulled into something akin to a smirk.

“What the fuck?” she demands as she gets closer. She stops short, glaring.

“I never had you pegged as the jealous type, Pressman,” his voice hovers somewhere between amusement and scorn.

“I never had you pegged as the unfaithful type, but I guess that shit must just be hereditary.”

The blank look she hates shutters over his face, all emotion disappearing from his eyes. “Fuck you, Pressman.”

“Yeah, I’m regretting that too.”

*

Harry doesn’t come to the barn for eight days. Karen and Olivia come and check and tend to his horses. Becca tells her on the fourth day that the photo is from an old photoshoot, and that they’ve removed it now.

Grizz brings her a mug of camomile tea and they herd the chickens into the pen to roost for the night. They mostly follow the handful of corn Grizz scatters into the coop, but one always likes to run around wildly in protest.

“You should apologise,” they sit on the porch, shoulder to shoulder. Sam joins them, so the pair flank Allie.

Allie sighs. “That’s not my speciality. We usually just ignore each other until it goes away.”

Both Grizz and Sam fix her with a look, one from either side.

“I’ve just seen Harry and Olivia in town,” Will approaches the porch, pushing his sunglasses into his hair. “He looks pissed.”

Three sets of eyes turn on her. Allie is tempted to throw her hands in the air. Instead she rolls her head onto Sam’s shoulder. He pats at her hair. “Fine. Tomorrow.”

*

Eden helps her perfect the perfect batch of chocolate chip cookies. They taste test a few, but then Becca snaps a towel at her back and snaps at her to stop stalling.

Allie packs the cookies into a tin and drives slowly over to the Bingham’s house.

Olivia opens the door and arches one eyebrow when she sees it’s her. The girl does stand aside to let her in, but doesn’t look overjoyed at her appearance.

“Harry!” she calls into the house. “She’s here.”

It’s an ominous sign, but Olivia’s calling into the living room rather than up the stairs. Allie follows Olivia into the living room, her heart beating quicker in her chest.

Harry’s sat on the couch reading and doesn’t look up as Allie stands in the middle of the room, the tin clutched in one hand. Olivia doesn’t leave the room, but stands next to the door with her arms folded.

“I brought you cookies,” she starts quietly.

“Nice. Leave them in the kitchen on the way out.”

Olivia snorts from the door.

Allie closes her eyes briefly. “Harry.”

He looks up then, right into her eyes. She wants to flinch away from the blank stare, forces herself to look right back at him.

“Pressman.”

“I just came to say… Apparently I overreacted, somewhat. And I’m sorry. For what I said.”

Harry looks past Allie to Olivia, who sighs before leaving the room. The door closes behind her. Harry looks back at Allie.

“It was a shitty thing to say.” His voice is as blank as his gaze.

“I know. I’m sorry. You’re – you’re completely different to him.”

Harry swallows and her shoulders relax an iota as she senses him defrosting. “He wasn’t an awful person – you didn’t really know him. He taught me how to ride a bike, helped me with math.”

There’s a chasm between them that Allie wants to broach. He’d already been away for ten days for the competition. Her bed’s empty without him, and Fiji keeps whickering at anyone who resembles his build.

“Come home,” it’s a quiet plea, but the words are firm. “Harry, please.”

He turns down the corner of his page and stands slowly, his joints popping. “I’d have been mad too, if it was of you and Joe.”

Her smile is a little victorious, but she presses her lips together to hide it. Harry rolls his eyes but he’s closed the distance between them, cupped her jaw with his hand.

His face is so close it goes out of focus. “Hi,” she breathes. “I’ve missed you.”

He smiles into the kiss, the tin of cookies between them.

“Sorry about the picture,” he says as they break away. “It’s old – from years ago. I asked them to take it down.”

Her fingers curl into his shirt, pull him closer. “I know.”

*

They have a fundraiser in September, to raise money for the programme. It’s a semi-formal ball. The older kids have been roped in to help with the catering and the music. Allie sells their parents discounted tickets until Harry finds out. Aside from parents the guest list expands to people Allie coaches, to other people in the town.

They sell out of tickets twice, and the scale of the event makes Allie nervous. Becca hasn’t actually tasked her with anything bar cleaning out the barn ahead of the event, and making sure Jigsaw isn’t allowed near any of the guests.

Harry helps her sweep out all of the bedding and then hose down the barn. It still smells distinctly of horse when they finish, but it’s the best they can do.

Grizz, Sam and Will have catered for the event. Will specialises in batch cooking for a vast crowd, whereas Grizz faffs with canapes and desserts. The garden is in full bloom and Grizz drags pots to line the entrance from the driveway to the barn.

Cassie has taken a rare vacation day. She helps Allie intertwine fairy lights and lanterns up the railings either side of the driveway. They’ve hired a professional company to come with chairs and tables, and they bring long, wooden rustic tables which are perfect when situated in the barn.

It’s definitely rustic. The chickens are braver now and peck around the barn. Hestia and Cookie bound around getting in the way. Grizz stresses about everything, and Becca looks murderous when the band are half an hour late and are still setting up when the first guests arrive.

Allie hadn’t really though about the combination of high heels and grass, and sees several women sticking on the walk up. Leo drops a whole tray of prosecco glasses with a clatter, and gazes blankly at the wall as Sam races to find a broom.

They have an auction planned, having begged donations from local stores. Harry’s sponsors had sent through lavish prizes in return for their banner being hung in a prominent position. Becca runs around with a camera, and Eden bosses the kids around in the kitchen.

After the dinner some tables are removed, opening up a dancefloor. Harry drags Allie up because he secretly loves being the centre of attention. She’s barely seen him all evening, just caught glimpses of his wide grin, of him touching shoulders and elbows and being the exact right mixture of cockiness and charm that only a Bingham can nail.

“Would be a good place to get married,” he says casually, his hand on her waist and fingers interlocked.

“Sam said that. I think he’s edging towards a free wedding for him and Grizz.”

He rolls his eyes at her, and the song changes to something faster. She jumps up and down in front of him, balance rolling with all the wine in her stomach, and he laughs when she grabs his face and screams the lyrics at him.

“I hate you,” he tells her mildly, as she accidentally stamps on his foot with her heel.

She falls against him and he catches her weight easily. “No, you don’t.”

He smiles at the roof. “No, I don’t.”

*

Allie tells him she loves him ten seconds after he makes her come.

“Fuck, I love you,” she breathes at the ceiling, and he picks up her hand and drops it to the mattress.

“Oh really,” he drawls. “Because I think you love something else right now.”

He’s not wrong. She tangles her hand in his hair and pushes him back between her thighs.

*

Cassie gets married in New York in late October, a year and three months after the proposal.

Harry and Allie turn it into a week long vacation. Harry clutches her hand as they navigate the subway and the busy streets, feeling like tourists. They stand in Times Square and Harry tips his head back, squinting at the billboards.

“I always thought I’d end up in the city,” he says to the sky.

“You’re still young,” Allie has a hotdog in one hand and ketchup on her chin. “There’s always time.”

Harry looks over his shoulder to her, quirks an eyebrow up. “Don’t think Fiji would like to live in an apartment.”

She would be lying if she said her grin wasn’t out of relief. “No. Probably be a struggle to fit him in the elevator.”

“I’d pay good money to see you trying to convince Jigsaw up the stairs. It’s a miracle that horse can walk with his conformation.”

Allie sighs at him, but lets him take her hand and continue their navigation to the Airbnb they’ve rented near Cassie and Gordie’s apartment.

The wedding is small and intimate, and they all go for a ridiculously priced dinner afterwards. Her dad makes a speech which makes all of his family cry and Gordie barely drops Cassie’s hand all evening.

Allie catches the bouquet and shows it to Harry, eyes bright with triumph.

“Don’t go getting any ideas,” his gaze is amused as she performs a victory dance, flowers in hand.

Allie gets drunk and insists Cassie slow dances with her, her sister looking ethereal in her white dress. They cling to each other and rotate slowly.

“I love you,” she sighs into her sister’s shoulder. Cassie holds her tighter.

*

Harry brings her a peppermint tea and a chocolate croissant the next morning. Allie makes a grateful noise as he presents his findings to her, not unlike a cat would present a mouse to their bemused owner.

“I love you,” she tells him, taking the lid off the tea and inhaling the steam.

He’s staring at her, grease soaking through the paper bag in his hand. Allie relieves him of the bag, tugging it from between his loose grip. She only realises he’s staring a moment later and thinks quickly back to what she’s said.

“Oh,” she says. “Yeah, I definitely love you.”

“I love you too.” His voice is low and assured.

“I know you do, you idiot. Have done for an entire decade, I heard.”

He steals a bite of her croissant.

*

Six months later, Allie finds the ring perched on top of the horse’s head on the _congratulations on not falling off_ trophy which sits, pride of place, on the shelf in their room.

It’s a simple silver band with a small stone set flush into the metal. It fits perfectly when she slips it onto her finger.

They have a rare evening to themselves, and Harry’s cooking dinner. He looks up and smiles as she walks in, her hair still damp from her shower.

“Chicken good?” he asks, then pulls something from the fridge, “doesn’t matter if it’s not, because that’s what you’re getting.”

The champagne makes a loud pop as she eases the cork from the top. It’s neither of their favourite drink and Harry looks at her curiously. She hands him a glass and clinks them together.

Harry’s gaze catches on the ring, and then moves to her face. His lips are parted and he looks young and vulnerable. Allie has a flashback to him lying in the hospital bed asking whether she loved him.

“You’re my best friend, Bingham,” she tells him. He’s nodding and ducking his chin to his chest. “You’re my favourite.”

“Is that a yes, then?”

She clinks her glass to his again. “Why else would we be celebrating?”

“I kept a shoe from Jasper and Jigsaw, and got some of the metal included in the band,” he’s lifted her hand to inspect the ring on her finger, so probably misses the way she looks at him.

“I fucking love you, Harry Bingham.” Allie spills champagne on the floor when she pulls him to her.

His grin is triumphant. “And the stone’s set so it doesn’t catch on anything at the barn.”

“And that, Bingham, is why I love you. Always so practical. So romantic.”

“Oh, I try.”

*

The wedding is in the first week of June two years later, because Allie doesn’t want to feel like a child bride.

They clear out the barn and hire tables from the same company they use every year for the fundraiser. Allie invites everyone to stay for a week and hires ridiculous bell tents with fairy lights strung between them. There’s a proper bed in each one and even Cassie admits they’re the height of comfort.

Grizz makes breakfast for everyone milling around the house. Buck and Fiona fly up from Texas and Allie gives them a tour of the facilities.

Becca, her mom and Cassie help her get ready. The dress is simple and lacey, but she has to admit she looks pretty good. Harry’s left a pitcher of her favourite strawberry cocktail in the fridge and she drinks a glass to calm her nerves.

Her bouquet is full of lavender from the garden and the scent is soothing.

Jim meets them on the porch. He touches her shoulder gently, not wanting to mess up her make up. “You look beautiful,” he tells her, and his eyes shine with the words.

“Ready to give me away forever to another man?” Allie asks at the top of the aisle, just out of sight of the guests. Becca and Cassie have started their procession, and Allie’s heart thrums as everyone turns to watch them.

“Oh, honey, Harry stole you away years ago. I’m under no illusions about that.”

The ceremony is held in the flattest paddock, but the aisle is still a slight slope. Allie holds onto her dad’s arm and looks at Harry the whole way down. He’s smiling the small grin he reserves just for her.

“Are you wearing your riding boots under that dress?” he whispers to her when she stands next to him.

“They were very expensive,” she whispers back, and her heart soars at the look he gives her. It’s equal parts exasperation and adoration.

Everyone claps and cheers when they kiss, and Allie resists the urge to hide her face in Harry’s shoulder. Instead she scrunches her nose at him and he nudges her with his shoulder, locking their hands together.

They’d managed to convince Grizz and Will they wanted them to enjoy the wedding and not cater for it. There are kegs of all of Harrys favourite beers everywhere, and a cocktail bar making Allie’s favourite cocktails. There are games such as croquet and pick up sticks dotted around in the empty paddocks, and straw bales for people to sit on. There are firepits and wood stacks for later on, when the cool night drew in.

Allie takes a moment between the socialising. She sits on the railings of the paddock, Hestia below her. A few of the horses have approached, snuffling curiously at her dress. Jigsaw eyes her from a distance.

Harry climbs up next to her, his tie discarded. Allie always prefers this looser, dishevelled version of him.

“Pressman,” he greets, and Fiji whickers lowly at his voice. “Wild horses always drag you away.” They have matching platinum bands on their ring fingers, and Allie runs her nail over his. “I always knew you’d annoy me into loving you,” he tells her. “At least you’re prettier than your horse.”

She shoves at his shoulders to push him from his perch, but he’s used to her by now. Maintains a tight grip on the top rail and ducks his head into her shoulder instead.

“I don’t think it could have been anyone else,” she admits, looking over the horses. Their tails swish in a reassuring manner, hooves heavy in the dirt as they mill around and amongst each other.

“No,” he says, “always you, Pressman." He sighs in a long suffering way. "And your damn ugly horse.”

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adios, amigos. this has been the best quarantine distraction.
> 
> to everyone who has commented - thank you!!! and anyone who may be reconsidering how wonderful horses are, this one's for you. i hope you've enjoyed the ride. 
> 
> feel free to come say hi on [tumblr](https://a-bomb-in-a-birdcage.tumblr.com/).

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to my latest brain child. should i be starting this? almost probably not. am i going to anyway? yes. do i know enough about western disciplines in order to fudge my way through this? absolutely not. is that going to stop me? unfortunately, no
> 
> as always, i would love to know what you think. mainly because i shamelessly thrive upon positive affirmation.
> 
> there will be more to this, but i am uncertain as to the quantity as of yet (and the quality will probably be dubious but that is a different matter)


End file.
